To Be Young
by MonacoMac
Summary: A look at Waylon's past and his emerging crush on Mr. Burns as he is hired as the man's assistant part time after school. Everything seems to be going well until Waylon gets into a fight and Burns urges Waylon to fight back like a man, a bit of advice that he would come to regret.
1. Teen Turmoil

**Chapter One: Teen Turmoil**

Fortunately, after years of tinkering and adjusting, Waylon's teeth had finally begun to cooperate. He had just gotten his braces off the day before and was feeling quite confident in himself all day, more so than he had in a long time. It was a small thing, but in such formative years of a young man's life, a small thing such as having braces removed was a real boost to his self-esteem and in his view, it took him one tiny step away from nerdville. He unconsciously caught himself walking a little more proudly than before, his gait a little more confident with every step.

School had just let out and Waylon just couldn't wait to head over to Mr. Burns' manor to show off his new set of perfectly straight, pearly whites. Clad in his impeccably neat, unwrinkled white shirt and his characteristic purple bow-tie, Waylon exited the double doors as fellow students jostled their way past him, school bells chiming in the distance. He stopped halfway down the steps, watching as a couple of carefree guys in the parking lot shoved each other around, laughing and carrying on before getting into their cars and driving away. He didn't even have his driver's permit yet, but that didn't stop him from dreaming of having his own car one day. Then, he'd be able to drive to Mr. Burns' place any time he wished in style. Certainly a car would be more impressive than the old hand-me-down girl's bike his mother had given him.

His mother, as well as her intentions were, was rather neglectful, being too far gone into her depression after her husband passed away. Even fifteen years after the fact, had done little to diminish the anguish she felt over the loss of her beloved. Waylon couldn't say that he'd ever really mourned his father's death, being only a wee infant when he died, but he did feel a sad for his mother and all of the friends his father had left behind to mourn his absence.

One person in particular that had been deeply affected by his death had been his father's boss, Mr. Burns. The man had been the one constant in his life since the beginning and at times, it seemed as if he had spent more time with him than he had with his own mother. A sudden shove from behind brought him back to reality as he stood on the front steps of Springfield High.

"Hey! Move it nancy-boy, before I have to ruin that pretty little metal face o' yers!" came a gruff, masculine voice from behind. He cringed at the sound since it was a voice that was usually accompanied by pain soon afterward. He didn't know what possessed him, but he suddenly felt a need to speak up to his tormentor.

"Sorry Jimmy, but my pretty face is no longer available for ruining. Thanks for the compliment though." Waylon smirked defiantly, turning to face the ginger-haired brute.

"Wait a minute." said Jimmy, moving closer and staring at him quizzically. "You got all that metal yanked off your teeth didn't you?"

"So you noticed?" Waylon asked.

"Well you must think yer some hot-shot now hm? Tryin' to look all prettified for your little boyfriend hm?"

He wasn't really sure why his face was turning so red. He didn't have a boyfriend or even a girlfriend really, not even a first kiss yet, but there here stood, his face becoming as red as his tormenter's ginger hair. Jimmy continued laughing and pretty soon a couple of Jimmy's friends stopped over to join in the merriment.

Everyone kept insisting that he was gay even though he never outwardly showed any attraction towards the same gender. At least if he did, he didn't think it was all that obvious. Sure, he had had a couple of fantasies about guys occasionally, but how could they possibly know that? How could anyone possibly know that he'd had a couple of fantasies about a few of his male classmates? Or more recently, about Mr. Burns? Maybe it showed too much? The thought only fueled his paranoia even further.

"Hey Jimmy... why do you always call me and pansy and... and all those other names?" Smithers asked, his voice accidentally going rather timid at the end as he thought of much worse insults that Jimmy and his boorish friends had thrown at him.

"'Cause man... yer about as queer-ass-gay as they come!" he replied, pushing Waylon in the chest with his hand in a very less than playful way, Waylon's feet shuffled backwards a couple of steps from the impact.

"Hey! Knock it off Jimmy!" a girl suddenly pushed her way between them. Her name was Meredith and she was a snobbish rich girl with waist-length black hair and that's all he knew about her since he'd hardly spoken more than a few words to her the whole year. She was very lovely however and Waylon wondered that maybe there might be more to her than just the preppy socialite with the somewhat charming southern accent. "Just go would you? I've just been dying to have a word alone with Wallace here all day!"

"Oh? Why you want to talk to that four-eyed freak for anyhow?" Jimmy asked.

"If you must know, I was going to ask him to accompany me to the junior prom. Not that it's any of your concern." said Meredith haughtily.

"What? Oh hell no!" Jimmy bellowed, clinching his fists at his sides. Waylon gulped as he watched seemingly every muscle tense on the hulking sixteen-year-old, far to large for his own good. "You were supposed to go with me remember?" Jimmy reminded Meredith, his voice tinged with anger and maybe even hurt.

"Really... I don't even know how to dance." Smithers interrupted meekly. "Besides, I wouldn't want to interfere with any... prior commitments..."

"You're damn right! You ain't interferin' in anything!" The next thing he knew, he saw Jimmy lunge for him. Before he even had any time to react, he felt the brute force of unrestrained rage unleashed as knuckles came into contact with his face. He fell down to the concrete steps beneath him. His face, which was already tender from the removal of his braces, was now throbbing from pain, the coppery taste of blood indicating the sheer damaging force behind that punch. It had all happened so fast, his mind was completely blank.

"Jimmy! How could you!" Meredith cried as she bent down to Waylon's level. He was too much in shock to do anything other that sit there and hold his hand to his sore face, the whole right side of which burned with intense pain.

"Wallace! Are you okay?" Meredith shrieked. His eyes were blurry with tears and as he looked up, her face was all a hazy blur, light distorted at the edges of his vision.

"The n-name's... W-Waylon" he stuttered, barely able to get out the words as his jaw had become numb.

"Oh, sorry." She quickly apologized. An awkward silence ensued before she spoke again. "So you want to go with me?" She asked in that almost sickeningly charming, 'sweet tea' voice of hers. Couldn't she see that he was still sitting there in excruciating pain?

"Well... the prom... it just isn't my sort of thing." Waylon replied apologetically. "You should go with one of the more..." Waylon paused, struggling for an appropriate word, "more well-liked, popular guys."

"No way! Sure you're still a little nerdy, but cute none-the-less. I'll be doing you a favor ya know! It'll be a will boost for you and everyone will be absolutely envious when they see you with me!" Meredith giggled. Yeah, Jimmy will be really jealous which is probably the only result she cared about.

He looked up at her in disbelief. Was this girl daft? He really had no desire to be popular, his jaw was throbbing with pain and she wanted to do him a favor by gracing him with her popularity? He stood up without another word, brushed off his clothes and turned to walk away.

"But Wayne!" Meredith voice called from behind causing him to stop in his tracks. "Are you going to go with me or not?" Waylon stopped in his tracks, hesitating before he spoke. He turned around, his hand twitching, almost reaching for her hands, but decided not to at the last moment.

"I can't. You deserve someone better than just some... nancy-boy." he said, in a rather self depreciating, mocking tone, struggling with the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Sure the girl was immature and as superficial as could be, but he couldn't just tactlessly turn her down like that without at least some sort of common courtesy. A girl like her just wasn't accustomed to rejection, especially from someone like himself.

"Mmm... m-kay! Call me if you change you're mind!" She giggled before running off to the parking lot.

Waylon stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Such a blasé tone she had when he was all but fishing for a little complement from her. Perhaps an, 'Aw, stop insulting yourself Waylon.' would have been nice.

His face hurt like hell; so much so that his eyes still watered from the searing pain. He dreaded getting a look at himself in the mirror. As he leaned over to unchain his bike, he tried to forget the pain and focus on the fact that soon, he'd be at Burns' place and the man always had a ton of chores for him to do, none of which he minded of course. All he ever wanted was to make Mr. Burns happy so chores were no problem for one so blinded by love.

He wasn't really sure when his infatuation with the man had began or what even spurred it on. Whether it be teen-aged hormones, a case of puppy-love or just plain lust, he wasn't sure. Lately, just the site of Mr. Burns, his authoritative presence and his eccentric ways, was enough to set his heart ablaze and it was all so confusing, and completely encompassing.

Every little bit of gratitude the man threw his way, whether it be a brief smile or pat on the back, it was all well worth the effort. His enthusiasm; however, was short lived. As much as he wanted to show off his new smile to Mr. Burns all day, now his face would most likely be bruised and a swollen, ruining any gains he may have made in the looks department.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. - This was originally posted on deviant art and it's just a quick, short chapter I wrote to start off a new story. I think it will get better now that the beginning has been established. I changed the chapter title for the third time just because I finally found a title that fit. xD<strong>


	2. In His Image

**Chapter Two: In His Image**

His excitement mounted as he neared Burns' Manor, peddling as fast as his old hand-me-down bike would carry him. He couldn't wait to show Mr. Burns a smile that wasn't full of metal for once. He skidded to a stop directly in front of the black, wrought iron gates. These strange, new feelings he'd developed for Mr. Burns were a little scary and at times overwhelming for the sixteen-year-old to fully understand.

It wasn't that he was naive about such matters of the heart, but it was the fact that this was Mr. Burns he was dealing with, a man of the world. A real old fashioned gentleman with refined taste and all the frills of the posh lifestyle. He had really lived the high life and had rubbed elbows with the best of them from celebrities to the big-shot millionaires.

He'd had a life full of adult experiences, gorgeous women, a closet full of expensive clothes and shiny polished shoes. What could he possibly ever see in little Waylon Smithers Jr, a mere ghost of his father's image? He was nothing more than a kid in Burns' eyes and at times, he felt as if he were a nuisance when all he really wanted was the friendship and acceptance of the only male figure he'd ever had to look up to.

As he stood there peering past the iron gates, lamenting over circumstances beyond his control, his eyes were suddenly drawn to the object of his distraction as he exited the mansion. Mr. Burns was dressed to kill, as always, in his white, pin-striped suit and hat. He would have stood there admiring him from afar a little longer if Burns hadn't noticed his presence. He gasped, his heart racing at being caught so blatantly staring.

"Waylon? Is that you?" the familiar voice called.

"Yes sir!" he called back, his voice cracking awkwardly.

"Well don't stand out there staring all day like a lost puppy, get in here." Burns ordered.

Waylon jostled the gates which he found opened easily, emitting a loud creak as they swung open. He walked up the long driveway to where Burns stood near the steps and stopped in front of him. He swallowed as he got a closer look at just how debonair and sophisticated the older gentleman was dressed with his red tie and matching red feather tucked neatly in to the band of his hat. He drank in the site of the man for a moment, complete lost in his own little world until Burns' voice brought him back to reality.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue young lad or did you forget how to speak?" Burns laughed. Waylon felt his face growing hot as he struggled to find an appropriate response.

"Ah...uh...y-you... you look so..." he muttered. His eyes widened with when he realized what he was about to say and upon seeing the perplexed look Burns was giving him he quickly added, "I meant... I meant...ah..." he froze suddenly as Burns eyes were fixed intently on him, almost melting under that gaze.

"Waylon." Burns interrupted, leaning closer to him. His breath hitched in his throat as Mr. Burns gently reached for his face, turning it to the side as he inspected the swollen, bruised cheek he'd sustained from the fight earlier. "What have you done to your face? You look as if you've been in a good old fashioned knock-down-drag-out!" Burns paused, inspecting the injury. "Did you deck him one too?" he added with a sly grin.

"Uh... I... um..." Waylon muttered breathlessly as Burns' fingers still lingered on his face.

"Gotten yourself into another schoolyard brawl?" Burns asked, but for the life of him, Waylon could barely muster a response, he only stared back at him with a glazed over, lovestruck look that he couldn't seem to shake.

"Uh..." he replied feebly. He could read the confusion, perhaps even suspicion in the older man's eyes and only hoped Burns couldn't read the state of pure hormone-induced distraction he was in.

"No matter." Burns withdrew his hand and sighed in defeat, unable to get a complete sentence out of him. Waylon took a deep breath, his hole body feeling both relief and protest at the loss of contact. Mr. Burns stepped back and turned to leave. "Come along inside then, those wounds need to be attended to."

Waylon stood still in his tracks, watching as Burns ascended the steps to his mansion. Why was he being so generous today? Of course he had always been welcome in Burns' home, but today the man seemed a little more caring than usual, an almost somber look about him.

Waylon shook his head, awaking from his love-struck stupor and rushed to catch up to him.

- o - o - o -

"Sir, would you like me to deal with Mr. Smithers?" came the resonant, yet formal voice of Mr. Burns' butler as he greeted them at the door. His name was Raymond and he was the paragon of everything that a butler should be, black hair slicked back neatly, impeccably dressed for work as always. Waylon had always thought Burns' servants were luckiest lot as they got to spend so much time at the mansion serving Burns and actually getting paid for it. Oh how he envied them.

"That won't be necessary Raymond. I can handle it." Burns waved him away and continued onward towards the back room past the grand staircase. "Come along Waylon." Burns called without turning back. Waylon followed him down the hallway until Burns stopped in front of the bathroom upon which he opened the door and stood aside, motioning for him to enter. Waylon hesitated a moment, unaccustomed to the five-star treatment Burns was bestowing upon him, but he didn't question it and entered the bathroom. Burns crossed the room, rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink.

The room was large and airy, much larger than the average bathroom with its golden arches reaching the high ceiling and hues of rich gold and pale coral. White drapery and various decoratively placed house plants finished off the decor with sophistication, but Waylon's favorite part of the room had always been the large mural behind the tub depicting various spiny seashells centered between two windows over-looking the forest behind the property.

He walked over to the sink and leaned over to look into the mirror, assessing his injuries and finally getting a painful look at the nasty, half-inch gash marring his right eyebrow and the large purple bruise that he now sported on his right jaw as well as the scuff marks and dirt from where he hit the ground when he fell. He winced at the sight.

"Damn that really looks bad doesn't it?" Waylon muttered. In the mirror, he could see Burns approaching him from behind. He hated Burns seeing him like this, being used as a punching bag. He and everyone else probably assumed that he never fought back and just took it like a door mat.  
>Mr. Burns leaned closer and brought a damp cloth to Waylon's forehead, hovering it cautiously over the scar on his forehead which still throbbed with a pain, but at least it was subsiding even if minimally. His whole body jumped involuntarily, partly out of pain, but mostly out of the fact that Burns was so close and touching him in such a caring way. Burns abruptly pulled his hand away, his face full of concern like Waylon had rarely seen before.<p>

"It looks worse than it really is." Waylon uttered.

"Nonsense Waylon. I barely even touched you and you were practically writhing with pain." Burns gently grabbed Waylon's arm and turned him towards himself for better access. "We should clean these wounds before the germs settle in."

Waylon braced him self, gritting his teeth as Burns carefully swiped the warm cloth across the wound, a myriad of conflicting emotions coursed through him ranging from sharp pain, elation, to downright confusion. Why was Burns doting over him like a mother hen all of a sudden? Rare was it that he saw actual concern behind those often callous eyes.

Burns took some medicine from the first aid kit he had laid on the counter and dabbed some of it onto the scars. He had to admit, he had been aware, for a couple of years now, the effect Mr. Burns had on him, yet nothing had ever messed with his sensitive hormones and emotions as much as Burns did now as he leaned in so close, close enough to kiss him if he so dared, however unlikely that was. The sight of the man, all polished and donning his best attire, his red satin tie, his white, feathered hat perched slightly askew, rich cologne mixed with the heady scent of old money and a scent that was uniquely his alone, it was all too much to bare for the confused young Waylon as he let out a small whimper.

"What? I wasn't even touching you then, stop being such a lily-livered recreant." Burns responded. He was thankful that Burns couldn't look into his mind right now and see all of the turmoil and teen-aged lust he was experiencing at the moment.

It was still surprising to himself how he was reacting. Never had he been attracted to someone so much older than himself, someone he considered an integral fixture in his life since his memories allowed. He took a deep breath as Burns finally placed the bandage across the scar, sealing the duration of their closeness.

"There. All patched up and ready to go." Burns took a step back to admire his handwork. Still, he wore that slightly mournful, distant look, his eyes betraying his calm facade. He looked as if the weight of the world had been suddenly thrust upon him and he was unsuccessfully trying to suppress it.

"Sir, if I may ask... Is everything okay? Why are you being so nice to me today?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing's wrong. I'm perfectly fine." said Burns stoically, almost as if trying to convince himself more than anything. "And what do you mean _nice_? I'm always nice to you!" he quipped.

"Forgive me sir, at times it seems you barely tolerate my presence. It's those rare times... when you let your carefree, childish side show through and allow me into your exciting world... those are the times that I cherish the most."

"Smithers... Why are you going all sappy on me? Now of all times..." Burns spoke with annoyance as he stalked off towards the door, yet Waylon could still hear the unmistakable hint of despair as his sentence trailed off, voice wavering unstably.

It wasn't lost by him either, the fact that Mr. Burns had addressed him as Smithers, a title that had been mostly reserved for his father. Not Mr. Smithers, but simply Smithers. Sure it was a surname, but the way Burns used it in such a familiar, intimate way was endearing. As if they were old pals and more than just boy and older father figure.

"Why? Something's going on. I know it." Waylon persisted. Mr. Burns remained static, standing with his back to him near the door. He hesitated a few seconds before answering.

"It's nothing for you to worry about... just ghosts from the past you could say." Burns sighed. Now it was Waylon's turn to hesitate, cautiously approaching a subject that he know would likely result in Burns attempting to hush him up and change the subject uncomfortably.

"Is this about my father?" Waylon treaded cautiously towards him.

"Perceptive young lad aren't you?" said Burns without turning around, his hands clasped securely behind his back as if to shield himself from the uncomfortable scrutiny he was under. "A real chip off the old block..."

"So I've heard." Waylon added.

"Waylon. Today is the ninth of December is it not?"

"Yes." he replied.

"It has been fifteen years then..." Burns trailed off wistfully.

He knew by Burns' tone what the man was referring to, finally he knew the source of Burns' lament. It was the anniversary of his father, Waylon Sr.'s death. He felt guilty for not feeling as sad as he should, but it wasn't if he had ever known the man since he had died when he was hardly a year old.

"Sir I... I'm sorry. I didn't know." He felt a little guilty for letting the day's date slip his mind and wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his arms around Burn. Figuring that would be greatly overstepping the man's boundaries he opted to reach out and place a hand on Burns' shoulder instead. Burns started at the touch.

"For a moment, you reminded me of him just then, always ready to offer a comforting hand on the shoulder." Burns laughed sadly. "I'm fine really. I've got a thick skin Waylon," Burns stated defiantly, "but occasionally... memories hit you when you least expect it, you know?" his tone softened, speaking just above a whisper as he avoided his gaze. "Seeing you... your likeness is uncanny. Hm... you wouldn't understand." Burns shook his head. "What tragedies could you have possibly endured?"

"Sir, I may not have led a life full of experiences yet, but I understand sadness. I've heard my mother cry herself to sleep at night. My stepfather, never approving of anything I've done... not one damn thing..." Waylon snapped, letting his irritation that Burns would be so dismissive get the best of him. "I wish you could understand that I'm not the same little kid anymore. I wish you could at least see me as a friend. I may not be my father, but I can be there when he can't." Waylon avowed passionately.

"You're right. I don't give you nearly enough credit do I?" Burns laughed, his usual vigor for life slowly returning with warm laughter. "If you are anything like him, then I know you'd be capable of anything." He then surprised Waylon by ruffling his fingers through his hair playfully making it even more spiky and unruly before exiting the room.

If anything, Waylon was grateful that he had managed to cheer the man up, even if it was his likeness to his father that had gotten Burns into such a downed mood in the first place.

**A. N. - After 15 years, I think Mr. Burns would still be sad for his lost friend even though the pain must have considerably faded. The anniversary of a death can bring back the pain, even if momentarily. Conversely, the episode "The Blunder Years" that featured Waylon Sr. first aired on Dec 9th.**


	3. Becoming Smithers

****Chapter Three: Becoming Smithers****

After Mr. Burns had left the bathroom, Waylon lingered there a bit longer, staring at himself in the mirror. His ash-brown hair was all ruffled where Mr. Burns' fingers had ran through it and he now had a carefully placed bandage over his left eye. His face was a lot cleaner from the dirt and scuffs he'd gotten in his fight and it seemed that Burns had made a surprisingly good nurse, especially with the melancholic mood he had been in whilst reflecting over the death of his friend. The scar over his eyebrow felt considerably better and no longer throbbed constantly with pain now that it was covered by the bandage, perhaps even feeling sort of a placebo effect from the caring way that Burns had attended to his wounds.

He wasn't really sure where to go from here. He should probably stick around longer to see if Burns had any chores or errands that needed to be done, maybe even enjoy a bit of the man's company if he would allow it. He entered the grand room, his footsteps echoed throughout on the marble floors, his eyes searching for Burns, but he was nowhere to be seen. The the room was insanely huge and almost hauntingly empty like the ballroom of an abandoned palace, the large fireplace taking up nearly an entire wall. He knew that Burns often spent time in there with the lights low, the fire crackling cheerfully to offset his somber mood and taking solace in the emptiness and the cavernous feel of the space.

It was only when he entered the smaller, yet stately den that he found Burns sitting there in his blue-green, wing-backed chair, absentmindedly stirring his coffee and his white hat placed on the coffee table in front of him. Burns didn't even seem to notice when Waylon cautiously stepped further into the room and sat down on the matching blue-green sofa across from him. Burns really seemed distracted today, which was understandable given the significance of the date and the memories of his friend Waylon Sr. who had died fifteen years to the day.

Waylon's eyes drifted around the room, soaking in the familiarity of it, the elegantly posh, yet lived-in feel. The walls were blue with rich, beveled oak wainscoting and the floors were covered in lush burgundy carpeting with a large royal blue rug in the center. It was still large and quite presidential, but it was much cozier than any other room in the house, yet still exuding Burn's classic, extravagant style. Waylon decidedly liked spending time there with Mr. Burns more than anywhere else in the world.

Waylon cleared his throat, effectively catching Burns' attention. Burns took a sip of his coffee, looking up at him from over his cup for a moment as if in contemplation. Waylon felt a small rush under the scrutiny of that gaze, his eyes averted nervously to a painting on the wall behind Burns for a moment before the man finally broke the awkward silence.

"So Waylon," Burns started. Waylon sat up a little straighter. "care to tell what happened at school today? Who did you fight?"

"Well, it wasn't a fight really. This guy, Jimmy, thought I was moving in on his girl and... it's stupid really. Just a misunderstanding." he explained.

"Ah... a girl. Now it gets interesting." Burns leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and waiting for him to continue divulging more information. Waylon took a deep breath before continuing, finally relaxing a little now that they'd gotten into the flow of conversation.

"No. I don't really like her, she invited me to the prom in front of her musclebound boyfriend... I guess to make him jealous or whatever, though I don't know who'd be jealous over me."

"Not your type huh?" Burns asked, turning his head to the side curiously.

"N-not really no. I'm... I'm not really into girls... not much. Maybe... I don't know... it's confusing." Waylon blurted, his words coming out in a hurried jumbled. His eyes widened as he realized how much he had revealed.

"So the prom?" Burns asked, totally dismissing it. Waylon took another deep breath, trying not to dwell too much on how sexy the man looked all dressed up in his white, pinstriped suit, his satiny red tie, all polished and reclining back in his chair with his legs crossed.

"Yeah. She invited me but I don't really want to go; besides, I can't dance."

"Can't dance? I don't believe that for one minute!" Burns uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in interest, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why, every young man should know how to dance! What do they even teach you in those schools these days? Trust me, lots of good business contacts can be charmed by just a bit of fancy footwork."

"But, I'm not the most physically coordinated person... not like you." Waylon looked up just in time to catch Burn's slight grin at the compliment, warming his heart just how much flattery seemed to effect the man.

"You remember when you were younger, how I used to try to teach you a few dance steps?" Burns asked. Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories and even though he wasn't very partial to dancing, just having Mr. Burns so focused on him was more than enough incentive. Burns had always been the eager dance partner, never passing up the chance to show off his moves.

"Yes, I remember. It's been a long time hasn't it?" Waylon smiled, staring off at the far wall, unable to look at him for too long without his imagination inadvertently going off into strange and interesting places, most of which involved Mr. Burns in some state of undress. Waylon shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Far too long." Burns leaned forward and took his hat from the coffee table and placed it on his head. Waylon watched with interest as Burns then stood to his feet and extended a hand to him. "Take my hand." Burns ordered calmly.

"What?" he looked up from Burns' extended hand, then to his eyes in a brief moment of uncertainty. His heart suddenly did an odd flip in his chest, his eyes going wide with recognition. Dancing mean physical contact and he wasn't sure how much physical contact he could actually take from him without melting right there on the spot!

"Come on, take my hand. I'll take the lead." said Burns, a playful glint in his eye as he held his hand out, waiting for him to take it. When his hand slid into Burns' he actually let out a whimper, butterflies suddenly swarming at the feeling. Burns' grip tightened on his hand and without warning, he was suddenly yanked to his feet and into Burns' arms, his chest firmly planted against Burns' and it was quite disorienting, especially when he realized that they were about the same height now, the fact being even more apparent being so close up. He moaned at the full frontal contact, never having been so close.

"Something wrong?" Burns asked. Waylon made a small noise, barely audible as he felt the breath on his neck as Burns spoke.

"N-no... I'm fine." said Waylon shakily.

"Now step aside. Watch my feet." Burns said, stepping further away from him and the furniture. Burns looked down to his own feet in concentration as he took two steps forward, then two steps back in time with imagined music. Waylon cleared his throat, making sure that his voice was okay to speak.

"Is that the Charleston?" he asked.

"Ah, you remembered. Excellent observation." Burns regarded him before resuming his demonstration. "First you take two steps, like this" Burns repeated the move. Even without music, his feet moved with such grace that he could certainly give Fred Astaire a real run for his money. Burns stopped and looked back up at him expectantly. "Think you can imitate that?"

"I can try... but I assure you, I won't be as good as you." Waylon praised.

"That's fine. Practically no one is." Burns flashed that charismatic smile of his, not one modest bone in the man's body, that's for sure. Waylon couldn't help but to mirror Burns' smile, it was infectious. "Well, go ahead, just like I showed you." Burns prompted.

"Okay." Waylon moved his feet, doing a fairly impressive imitation of Burns' move and repeated it several times in the pursuit of perfection. "But I don't think this is the kind of dance people my age are doing."

"Ah, balderdash! These moves are classic! Now to jazz it up a bit..." Burns repeated the same steps, only this time bending his knees a bit and turning his ankles with each step, speeding up his moves effortlessly.

"Oh, that actually looks pretty easy." Waylon took a spot next to him and copied him.

"Lots of people like to add their own little signature moves to it, whatever you want, there really are no constraints, but the basic steps are always simple." Burns' dancing came to a sudden stop and he went over to the far corner of the room. Waylon squinted his eyes, trying to see what he was doing, but it quickly became apparent once music began to fill the room. Burns came back and once again offered his hand to Waylon. "Shall we?"

"Together?" Waylon asked before he could stop himself.

"Why not? Just do the same steps as before, but place your right hand in my left like this." Their hands intertwined and his breath caught in his throat when Burns' right hand crept along his left side. Burns let out a low chuckle.

"Waylon, if you're this jumpy just dancing with me, I fail to see how you're ever going to dance with a girl." he laughed.

"I'm okay, really." Waylon laughed awkwardly out of sheer nervousness. Burns moved his feet so Waylon began to as well until he finally began to relax, their moves becoming impressively in sync. The rapid nature of the dance and the upbeat music was quite tiring, yet Burns showed no signs of quiting.

"You know, back in the old days, this dance was considered quite immoral and provocative." Burns said as they danced "such a dance was quite a popular way of being rebellious against one's parents as was the trend at the time. Though, that aspect hasn't changed much has it?" Burns laughed.

"I wouldn't know sir, I'm not very rebellious myself. My stepfather isn't one to be crossed..." Waylon spoke darkly, his dancing coming to a stop. He never liked his stepfather very much; the man had only whipped him once, but he'd never disobeyed him again. Mr. Burns never said anything bad about his stepfather, but he suspected that Burns didn't really like him much either. Burns looked like he wanted to say something, his face becoming more solemn and contemplative, but kept silent, one hand still clasped with Waylon's, the other still on his hip.

"Okay," Burns sighed, his face flushed and lively as he took a deep breath, "how about a slower dance? I'm getting a bit winded."

"Yeah, that sounds good." Waylon agreed absentmindedly. It was only when Burns crossed the room to change the record, the mellow and classically romantic tune of Moonlight Serenade filling the room, that he realized what he'd just agreed to and his eyes became wide with realization. It was a slow dance.

Burns' hands snaked their way around his hips and he moved in a little closer. They'd danced plenty of times before, but never a slow dance! Waylon took a deep breath and willed himself to relax, reveling in the feel of Burns' hands around him. His arms felt awkwardly positioned at first, unsure where to put them since Burns always naturally took the lead. He finally let his arms relax, hands reaching Burns' shoulders and resting there naturally.

"You know..." Burns said at length. They were dancing too close for Waylon to see his face, so he waited for Burns to continue. "I would have taken you in, raised you myself if I could have. I even offered your mother a monetary arrangement for custody of you, but there was no amount she would take."

"What? When... When was this?" Waylon exclaimed; Burns' statement had been so out of the blue that it caught him off guard. The combination of Burns' close proximity and the news he'd just received had his mind racing, his head spinning until he felt a little light headed.

"Soon after your father died. Your mother could have been set for life, but she turned down a fortune. You were far too priceless in her eyes," he paused, "the only connection to your father that she had left."

Waylon couldn't believe what he was hearing. Their lives could have been so drastically different, probably even for the better, for his mother and himself, but he couldn't blame her. She actually saw him as priceless. Waylon's stepfather never really wanted kids so he was more than happy to leave him with Burns when he didn't want to deal with him, sometimes even weeks at a time, especially during summer vacation.

"Well, at least I was wanted." Waylon laughed after a long while, finally letting it all sink in. He really wanted to ask more, but he was hesitant. He wanted to know why Burns had never told him, but he had the feeling it had something to do with pride, not really wanting to show how much he cared. Burns had always been funny about showing affection and he'd always said that people expect too much from you when they know you care. Better to keep your distance to avoid disappointing people, he'd say. Burns remained silent as they danced slowly, probably lost in thought like he had been for most of the day. Waylon Sr.'s death must have hit him harder than he'd ever let on since he rarely ever talked about it.

Waylon's thoughts came back to the present, noticing just how close Burns had become as they danced, the man's body brushing against his with nearly every step. Waylon closed his eyes, leaning into the embrace, his mind yelling at him that Burns' wouldn't allow it; however, Burns' arms wrapped further around his waist while Waylon's arms closed more around his shoulders. Their feet moved slowly, naturally. Despite the rush of excitement and hormones raging through him, Waylon had never felt more safe and relaxed in his whole life as Burns held him, even after the music had stopped, they continued to move slowly, Waylon still hearing the sentimental tune in his mind.

Then, Burns' next move inadvertently broke their peaceful rhythm. It was a rather innocent brush of Burns' fingers along the small of his back, but something in the way it affected Waylon, almost as if he'd hit an erogenous zone that he hadn't even been aware of, caused Waylon to gasp, his body tensing slightly as he began to notice just how overwhelmingly turned-on he'd become. How Burns hadn't noticed was beyond him considering how close their bodies were.

Those incredibly tantalizing fingers that made him shiver all over with unrequited lust, once again brushed along the same spot on his lower back, eliciting another desperate gasp. His face now flushed hotly, feet no longer moving with the music. Burns' embrace loosened slightly.

"Waylon?" he asked. Waylon was responding to the contact in ways that he only hoped Burns' wouldn't notice, his body tensing, breathing irregular. Waylon tried to assure him that he was fine, he really tried, but just when he thought that he'd finally found his voice, the words caught in his throat.

"I'm...I... oh god..." Waylon muttered, completely lost in the way their bodies were pressed together. Burns had to have noticed just how aroused he'd become, it would be hard for him not to notice by now, yet Waylon felt frozen on the spot, unable to push himself away without drawing too much attention to the action... to the fact that he was trying to hide his unintended and poorly timed arousal.

"Waylon." Burns uttered, his voice tinged with urgency and confusion. Burns' hands gripped Waylon's shoulders firmly, pushing him back slightly to look him in the eye. Waylon looked up and met a look of panic in Burns' eyes equal to his own. "Are you... is that...uh...?" Burns asked uncertainly.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry! I'm... I..." Waylon muttered in apology.

"It's uh... um... " Burns took a step back, putting a little space between them and Waylon's hand trailed down Burn's arm as he pulled away to steady himself. Burns looked down to the floor like he wanted to say something, but was unable to find a suitable response. Waylon felt like his heart had sank to his stomach; he had never been so thoroughly embarrassed and completely mortified in his whole life and it was at least a little consolation that Burns hadn't completely freaked out and embarrassed him even further. At least not yet.

"I'm sorry, I just became... lost in thought. I should have realized..." Burns said, pausing for an uncomfortably long moment. "P-perhaps we should... try another dance step." said Burns shakily, attempting to move on from the incident and Waylon couldn't have been more grateful for the sympathetic gesture. He must not have been paying attention because he was vaguely aware that Burns had just asked him a question as he was staring at him intently.

"Hmm?" Waylon asked.

"I was just telling you to watch while I show you the next dance step but..." Burns sighed heavily before continuing, "I can see this is going to be a problem for you..." Burns spoke tentatively, avoiding his eyes. "Look Waylon, It's... it was really nothing... could have been spurred on by anything and it happens to the best of us... especially at your age." he laughed nervously, "Don't worry about it."

"Uh... sure." Waylon responded. How else could he respond really? Waylon skidded his shoe across the rug, a nervous habit of his. He couldn't believe that he had just had _that _conversation with Mr. Burns and while he was glad that he had dismissed it so easily, Waylon knew his attraction hadn't been spurred on by _just_ anything. It was now more concrete than ever just how deep his attraction to the man was and sadly, the idea that they'd ever be an item was simply too far-fetched, yet he knew the feeling would never fade since it had only grown stronger over the years. He wondered just how many years of unrequited love and longing attraction lay ahead for him and how many years he would be able to endure it.

"Now the Foxtrot is a lot quicker paced than..." Burns paused uncomfortably, "... the previous dance, but it's still simple when you break it down." and without another mention of the 'incident', Burns went on to demonstrate the Foxtrot just as he had with the Charleston with Waylon imitating him to the best of his abilities afterwords and he was quite proud of himself that he was actually able to keep up. After many practice attempts, several off-color jokes from Burns and Waylon falling on his face once, his embarrassment began to subside and became nothing more than an afterthought

Pretty soon the two where exhausted and full of lively merriment, both collapsing down onto the sofa giggling and completely winded from all the dancing.

"I tell you..." Burns panted from all the dancing and laughter, "in my day... that joke would have been considered completely scandalous," he laughed breathlessly, "especially in mixed company!" Burns laughed heartily again, a hand resting on his chest as he sat low on the couch, legs sprawled out tiredly in front of him. Waylon slouched next to him, his knee brushing along side Burns'; he closed his eyes for a moment as his breathing slowed. Today had been quite the eventful day now that he'd thought about it. He'd gotten into a fight, had his wounds attended to by the object of is affection, slow danced with Burns, danced the Charleston and Foxtrot, not to mention the embarrassing arousal incident. He sighed, a sudden question forming in his head now that he felt a little more unguarded and bold enough to ask it.

"Mr. Burns?" he asked, both of them still slouched tiredly onto the couch next to each other. Burns took a deep breath, one hand resting on his own stomach, his other hand resting limply on the couch.

"Hmm?" Burns asked.

"Why were you all dressed up tonight? Were you planning on going somewhere?"

"Oh. No, it's just... It's nothing. I had plans, but they fell through. My date couldn't make it." said Burns, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. Waylon sat up as well, the mention of the word date setting off jealously in him like he'd never known. It all felt so strange and new, feelings that had always been there now emerging as something unrecognizable, something more adult. He was about to say he was sorry about him being stood up like that, sorry that his date had canceled on him, but he knew that was a lie. Any person that could leave Burns hanging, all dressed up and nowhere to go didn't really deserve him in the first place and he knew if he were Burns date, he would move heaven and earth just to make sure he got there on time and if he did happen to be late or miss their date, he'd spend as long as it took to make it up to him.

"I guess it's a good thing I came by then." Waylon finally replied, satisfied that his answer was truthful without being to revealing.

"Yes, that is fortunate." Burns replied, looking at him before continuing to speak. "So was there any particular reason you decided to stop by?"

"Spending time with you is reason enough." Waylon smiled. Burns flashed him a quick smile before moving to stand.

"You know," Burns stated at length, "I think I'll have a nice cool glass of water how about you?" Before he could say anything else, Waylon stood and moved almost robotically to go fetch the water that Burns wanted like he'd done so many times. Burns hadn't ever asked him to do these things, he'd just always done them anyway ever since he was old enough to reach the kitchen counters. It made him feel special and needed. He thought that as long as he made Burns comfortable then maybe, just maybe he would decide to keep him around longer, preferably forever.

Soon after, Waylon returned from the kitchen with a tray and on it was the glass pitcher full of ice cold water and a glass. He sat the tray down on the coffee table, careful not to scuff the table or spill any water on it.

"Waylon, there's a butler for that you know." said Burns, sitting down on the sofa and watching as Waylon busied himself pouring the water.

"But I like doing things for you sir." Waylon said, sending a smile his way.

"Didn't you bring a cup for yourself?" Burns asked.

"Oh. I didn't think about it." Waylon replied. Truthfully, he really was thirsty, only noticing how dry his throat was now that he'd mentioned it.

"Go get yourself a cup Smithers." Burns insisted, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Yes sir," Waylon grinned before turning away, the fact that Burns had just called him Smithers again not slipping his radar. He liked it when he called him that; it made him feel more like an equal, more adult and less like the little Waylon that he usually referred to him as.

He returned quickly with the cup and poured himself a glass, his eyes briefly catching a glimpse of Burns staring at him as he poured. He took the glass and sat down next to Burns; he could almost see the wheels turning in the man's head and he wondered apprehensively what he was thinking. Waylon cleared his throat and took a sip of his water, holding the glass down near his lap.

"Um... so... I got my braces off." Waylon said, more to break the silence than anything.

"Yes, so you have. I noticed earlier, but I thought I'd let you tell me about it when you got around to it." said Burns.

"Actually that's the reason I came over. Thought maybe I'd drive my bike down here and show off my metal free teeth." he laughed again awkwardly.

"Yes, they seemed to have straightened up very nicely; however it looks like you might need a new bike pretty soon. I noticed it when you were out by my gate. A bit too small and... girly for a man your age to be riding around on." Burns frowned at the thought distastefully.

"Oh... ah yeah I know. " Waylon laughed, inwardly squealing like a little girl that Burns now referred to him as a man. The bike was light blue with remnants of decorative tassel he'd ripped off the handle bars, but it was still identifiably a girl's bike. "I was actually thinking of getting an after-school job so I might be able to afford a car instead."

"Ah, now that's a wise investment!" Burns nodded, leaning forward and retrieving his glass of water from the table and taking a sip from it. Burns looked off to a far wall as he spoke, "So... any ideas on what kind of job you'd be looking for." he asked.

"Well... not really." Waylon replied. He had considered that getting a job would really cut in on the time that he'd be able to spend at Burns', but then again, getting a car and job would certainly impress the man as he seemed to value success and he'd be able to get to Burns' place much quicker and more conveniently with a car.

"You know you really would make an excellent assistant for some rich business tycoon in need of one." Burns spoke, looking down at the glass of water he held in his hand distractedly. Waylon thought it over for a moment; there was only one rich, business tycoon in the world that he wanted to spend time with and he didn't really think Burns would want to hire him.

"Of course, you would be paid minimum wage to begin with, especially considering you're still in high school." Burns spoke again. Slowly, Waylon's train of thought began to align with Burns' and his heart leaped for joy at the prospect. Burns actually wanted him as his assistant? It seemed almost too good to be true, actually getting paid for things he already did willingly!

"Sir, are you sure about this? You actually want me?" Waylon shook his head at the suggestiveness of that comment, quickly amending it. "-want me to be your assistant that is?" he asked, laughing at the way the words sounded, almost unbelievable coming from his own mouth.

"You want a car and I want an assistant... seems like a match made in heaven to me so... when can you start?" Burns asked, flashing him a grin that made him want to throw himself at the man right then and there and capture him in a tight hug, even a kiss if he were to be so daring. Of all the things that had happened that day, during his whole life, this had to be one of the best.

**A.N. - I'm glad to have written another chapter of this story finally. A few people have said that they wanted to see this continue and now that I've found the time and inspiration to do so, I hope you've enjoyed it. I know Burns is still a little too nice here, but he will be his old irritable self soon enough, he's having an off day. xD Besides, I like to think Burns has his carefree, sentimental moments as well as his well known, evil 'in-character' persona, especially in his younger days.**


	4. Home Sweet Home

**Chapter Four: Home Sweet Home**

Waylon had ridden back home on his bike that day with the silliest, lovestruck grin on his face. Mr. Burns had actually hired him to be his assistant which meant that all day after school, he'd be bringing Burns his slippers, brewing his coffee, answering his phone and maybe even greeting people at the door. Sure, it might not sound like a dream come true to most people, but it was his idea of paradise.

He stepped into the front door of his home and spotted his stepfather Glen sprawled out asleep on the couch in his white shirt, suspenders and rolled up sleeves. He was a tall, thin man, often being described as lanky and his brown hair was short, impeccably trimmed and parted on the side. Every day he would shlep in through the door, take off his suit jacket and place it on the hook near the door. Then he would loosen his tie, roll up his sleeves, kick off his shoes and then pass out on the couch for a while. He rarely strayed from this routine and became irritable as hell if he was forced to.

Waylon preferred not to deal with him as their relationship was tumultuous to say the least, so he tip-toed passed him and made his way up the stairs. He was careful to skip over that noisy ninth step; however, on the tenth step, the groggy sounds of his stepfather awakening from his slumber met his is ears and he quickly rushed up the rest of the way and dashed into his room, cautiously locking the door behind him.

He plonked down onto his bed and grabbed the nearest magazine just so he would have something to do when Glen came up to check on him, which he would inevitably do sooner or later. Sure enough, soon he heard him stomping up the stairs and by the sound of those angry footsteps, he could tell that the man was going to make things difficult for him. He got up and grabbed a record from his collection, one that he knew would be most annoying and obnoxious to his stepfather. It was his own subtle way of rebellion, much like Mr. Burns had mentioned, a way to break away from the previous generation. Soon the psychedelic tones of 'Light My Fire' by 'The Doors' filled the room with its iconic organ intro.

BANG BANG _BANG, _came the loud, thunderous rapping of a fist at his door.

"Waylon, unlock this damn door!" yelled Glen, jiggling the knob. Waylon leaned over to the record player on the table next to his bed and turned up the volume to drown him out. He then settled back, propping the pillow behind his back as he browsed the latest issue of 'Tiger Beat' magazine.

"I know you can hear me boy! Open the door!" Glen bellowed, banging his fist against the door a few more times. Waylon rolled his eyes, something he wouldn't dare do in front of the man. After about a minute, he heard the doorknob rattling again and then a click. The door came open and there stood his stepfather with his pocket-knife in hand and an infuriating smug look on his face.

"You can never go wrong with a good pocket knife." The man chuckled. Waylon groaned with annoyance, sinking down to hide behind his magazine.

"That damn hippie music... God, all they sing about is drugs and sex." Glen snarled. Waylon looked up over his magazine, seeing Glen holding the cover of his record and inspecting it with disapproval.

He had a strong dislike of his stepfather. Even when he was little, his mother used to drop him off with Burns just because she knew Glen didn't like kids and she had her own problems to deal with being an alcoholic as well as suffering from depression. Though she was a troubled woman, she had a kind heart and only wanted the best for her son.

His stepfather was a stern disciplinarian and was the kind that believed a man wasn't a real man unless he adhered to the ideal macho image of what he thought a man should be. A paragon of masculinity; real men were supposed to like hunting, sports and anything that was really tough and competitive. They weren't supposed to like art, dancing, theater, fashion and things of that nature, consequently, all things that Mr. Burns liked and Waylon had always thought that he was the ultimate image of masculinity if there really was such a thing.

"Baby light my fire... phttt..." Glen mocked as he switched the music off and Waylon went back to pretending to read his magazine. Glen snatched the book from him and quickly scanned the front cover.

"Scott Baio? Leif Garret? John Stamos? Who the hell is John Stamos?"

"Hey! I was reading that!" Waylon exclaimed, reaching back for it, his face burned hotly with embarrassment as he realized that the cover was full of sexy male heartthrobs, with captions like, _'Those Sexy, Irresistible Hollywood Bachelors! Shirtless edition!'_

"What, for the articles? Looks like a bunch of pretty boys if you ask me." Glen huffed, throwing the magazine back at him and hitting him in the face with it. Waylon got up and stuffed the magazine in his desk drawer.

"If you're just going to criticize everything that I do, then I'll just leave." Waylon slammed the drawer shut a little louder than he'd meant to and turned to leave the room, but was stopped by a firm grip on his upper arm, yanking him back forcefully. He suddenly found himself face to face with the man and he didn't looked pleased, his brows furrowed with anger.

"Not so fast mister." Glen spoke harshly. Waylon gritted his teeth as he mustered up the courage to speak.

"I don't have time for this." Waylon winced with discomfort as fingers gripped painfully tighter into his arms.

"You know you should have called if you were coming home late!" Glen ranted. Waylon looked him in the eye for a few tense seconds before looking away.

"Why would you care? You never have before." said Waylon, his voice hitching uncomfortably. It wasn't like he really cared for his stepfather's approval anyway.

"Well...your mother was worried sick." Glen added, his fingers suddenly loosening the vice-like grip he had on Waylon's arms. It surprised him to see his stepfather's pained expression; perhaps even seeing a hint of remorse reflected in those deep-set eyes. No. He must be imagining it because it was gone in a flash and replaced by his usual anger tinged indifference. An oxymoron if there ever was one. Why did he get so angry at Waylon if he felt indifference towards him?

"I'm sorry... I forgot." said Waylon calmly. Glen let go of him and growled through his remaining anger.

"You know, your mother would be better off if she didn't have to deal with your drama all the time. Always coming home whining, bruised and bloodied." Glen spat, his voice dripping with mockery. "Why don't you try fighting like a man for once?"

Glen's words didn't usually hurt him so much, but this time they cut deep. He turn away from his stepfather as he felt a small lump forming in his throat his eyes burning with tears; it wouldn't do to let the man see him like this. The air was thick with tension and sorrow as the words sunk in. Maybe he really was in the way; maybe his mother would have been better off giving him to Mr. Burns so she wouldn't have to put up with all of his often melodramatic teen problems. Problems that at times, felt like they weighed him down like a wet cloak in a desert sandstorm. His mother didn't deserve to share his burdens when she had her own cross to carry. Her own desert sandstorm to roam.

Finally, after a minute he heard his stepfather leave, taking with him all the tension like a gust of fresh air, yet leaving nothing but uncertainty and doubt in the void. Waylon sighed. At least he had something to look forward to when he showed up for his job at Burns' tomorrow. Now, he only had to find a way to bring up the subject of his new job during dinner and he had the feeling that if his stepfather found out just how enthused he was about it, he'd probably forbid him from going just to piss him off so he'd have to play it casual.

- o - o - o -

"So... um..., I'm going to be a little late getting home from school tomorrow." Waylon stated out of the blue at the dinner table.

"Oh?" His mother Lydia regarded him as she cut her stake into neat slices. She was very meticulous like that and this was one of her good days so her mood was bright.

"Yeah. I hope it's okay." said Waylon at length, smiling back at her. Everyone had always said that Waylon favored his father, but he did share his mother's likeness in more subtle ways. She was fair haired, sharing almost the same shade of mousy, ash-brown hair only a bit lighter and wavy, a little past her shoulders.

He fiddled around with his fork, stirring his gravy and mashed potatoes around a bit as he contemplated the words he was about to say. His stepfather seemed completely oblivious to their conversation, downing his dinner as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Funny to see a thin man eat the way he could. He looked back at his mother and noticed the glass of red wine next to her plate.

"Mother..." Waylon tilted his head to the side in disappointment, gesturing his hand towards her glass. She never thought her drinking was such a big deal and didn't understand Waylon's concern. It pained him to see her drinking away all her troubles, yet at the same time, he could sympathize with her need to escape it all. Drinking seemed to be a hereditary trait on her side of the family and it worried him constantly.

"What? It'll wash down the steak." she laughed, making light of the situation like she always did. She picked up her glass and took a small sip. "It's good for the heart."

"Bad for the liver." Waylon added disapprovingly.

"No harm in a little indulgence occasionally son." she said, her voice going defensively higher in tone. "Now what sort of plans do you have that's going to keep you out late tomorrow? Do you finally have a young lady friend that you're keeping a secret? You should bring her over!" his mother chimed enthusiastically.

"No. It's nothing like that mother." Waylon looked down at his plate. He was always easily embarrassed and the mention of a girlfriend was enough to bring a little splash of color to his cheeks.

"Waylon with a girlfriend? Ha! That'll be the day!" Glen mocked, shoveling another spoonful of food into his mouth.

"Glen!" Waylon's mother shushed from across the table before turning her attention back to Waylon. "Well, if it's not a girl then what is it?"

"I've found an after school job, if that's okay mother." Waylon said as dispassionately as possible. He just knew Glen would object to it if he seemed too enthused about it.

"Oh! That sounds nice! Very responsible for a young man. Just as long as it doesn't interfere with your studies." she cautioned.

"I don't think it will. I'm going to be Mr. Burns' assistant." Waylon's eyes darted from his mother to his stepfather, trying to gauge their reactions. Glen and his mother shared glances for a moment as if in silent discussion.

"Did you hear that Glen?" she asked.

"Meh... sounds fine with me. I couldn't care less." Glen shrugged, scraping the last remnants of his mashed potatoes onto his spoon. "He's your kid not mine. My two are off in college right now so my child rearing days are over." and with that, Waylon felt a huge wave of relief. Things really were starting to look up for him and he inwardly rejoiced in the fact that he'd have even more of a reason to hang around Burns' mansion now.

Not much else was said during dinner that night since most of the food had been eaten. Soon he and his mother had the dishes washed and he went up to his room for the rest of the evening, trying to decide what he would wear to his first day at his new job tomorrow and trying his best to prepare himself mentally so that he wouldn't mess up.

- o - o - o -

All throughout the school day, Jimmy, the red haired bruiser, had been giving him the look. It was a look that said, 'Mess with my girl and die punk!' He tried not to look at Meredith or Jimmy too much that day and even resorted to chatting with the guy who sat in the desk behind him, Homer Simpson, while the teacher was out just to make it seem like he was preoccupied and not looking at Meredith. Homer wasn't the best conversationalist and was somewhat of a slacker that occasionally bullied him, but if you caught him at a good time, he wasn't really all that bad.

At the end of the day he went into one of the stalls in the boy's restroom and changed into some neater clothing that he'd brought with him. He put on a freshly ironed light blue shirt and sharply creased gray slacks in preparation for his first day as Burns' assistant.

He exited the stall and took a quick stock of himself in the mirror. He had shaved off what little facial hair he had that morning and his complexion was pretty good for a hormonal teen. A few weeks ago, he had shelled out thirty bucks of his savings on a cologne called 'Wall Street' that he knew Burns would probably like and he was going to give it to him as a gift, but he'd never worked up the courage to. He'd practically hounded the perfume lady at the mall until she helped him find the perfect scent for a man of Burns' refined caliber that was still within his budget.

He opened the brown and burgundy bottle, wet his fingers with it and placed a little on his neck and chest. It was a refreshingly crisp and invigorating green scent of sliced cucumbers, zesty lemon and thyme with subtle undertones of leather, lavender and salty sea air all culminating into a scent that really was surprisingly similar to that of freshly printed, cold hard cash.

He finished buttoning his shirt and carefully tied his navy blue and white striped tie, the colors of Burns' alma mater of course. He then ran a comb through his hair, parting it neatly on the side for a change and sprayed on a little hairspray. He finished off the look with a navy blue blazer, one he thought looked just professional enough without being too formal.

When he finished up in the bathroom, confident that he looked as good as he was going to get, he went out to the parking lot and wouldn't you know it, Meredith came bounding towards him as if waiting for his arrival. He pretended not to notice and sped up his pace, hiding his face with his hand, but she caught up with him anyway.

"Hello William!" she said in her stuffy, upper-class southern accent.

"Me-Meredith! What are you doing? We can't risk Jimmy seeing us together like this! He'd tan my hide!" His eyes quickly darted around the school grounds in search for her jealous boyfriend or one of his cronies, fearing that he might get caught talking to her.

"Oh, silly boy. Forget about him, this is about you and me sugar." Meredith said cheerfully. "So, have you thought about my offer the other day? About going to the prom with me?" she said, her voice drawling with that slow, southern twang.

She was sort of cute in her own 'spoiled-little-rich-girl' way with her snow-white alabaster skin, rosy cheeks and her coal black hair tied with blue ribbons in old fashioned ringlet curls. She was exactly the kind of girl that would make his mother happy for him to bring home, but she still didn't give him that same rush of excitement, that same tightness in his chest that Burns did. She just didn't take his breath away.

"I'm not used to being turned down you know." said Meredith, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Well, even if I wanted to... Jimmy-"

"Jimmy's an annoying, overbearing oaf and he'll find another girl soon enough. Don't worry about him." Meredith quickly assured him.

"But I have to! I just got my braces off and I'm quite fond of my newly straightened teeth!" Waylon reasoned, the blaring pain of Jimmy's fist against his jaw was still fresh in his memory. "Besides, I'm just not ready to date girls yet."

"Well my goodness Waylon! What are you waiting for darlin'? Are you hormonally deficient or just a little on the queer side?" she giggled, swatting at him gently. Waylon hesitated, scraping his shoe against the sidewalk bashfully and giving her enough time to jump to her own conclusions, hoping that she would be understanding.

"Wait... please tell me you aren't..." Meredith suddenly looked horrified, folding her arms over her chest and distancing herself from him as if trying to avoid the plague.

"What? NO! No no no... It's nothing like that!" Waylon replied, panicked. Honestly, it was becoming more easy to just deny it rather than to deal with other people's reactions. Being gay was certainly frowned upon and it was still something that was undesirable and sorely misunderstood by the majority of Springfield. It was always easier to conform to societal norms than to provoke controversy, even if it was a lie and he certainly had enough drama in his life already.

"Well good! Then you'll at least consider my offer then?" asked Meredith, her previous tension slowly melting away.

"But why the sudden interest in me?" Waylon asked curiously.

"Yeah Meredith, why the sudden interest in a dweeb like Waytard?" came a gruff voice that filled him with dread. Paralyzed with fear for a split second, Waylon forced himself to react and make a quick retreat.

"I'm... sorry Meredith... I have... to go!" Waylon yelled breathlessly as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The memory of Jimmy's knuckles against his jaw was something that he didn't wish to feel again and he knew he just wasn't physically strong enough to cause much damage to the hulking hide that covered all that muscle.

"I'll get you! Mark my words you son of a bitch! I WILL get you one day you hear me?" Jimmy bellowed behind him, chasing him and he was quite thankful that his skill at running track was serving him well at keeping far ahead of the hazardous situation. Suddenly, the worst thing imaginable happened and he felt himself tripping over his own two feet and falling into a mud puddle just as he'd always made fun of those girls in the horror flicks; suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. Completely disoriented, he felt around in the mud and found his glasses, quickly cleaning the mud from them with his fingers and wiping the rest on his blazer, which was pretty much covered in thick mud anyway. Soon, a tall shadow loomed over him and he didn't have to turn around to know that it was Jimmy.

"Yo, four eyes." came a different voice than he had expected. It was Homer Simpson. "Are you gonna sit there in the mud all day or stand up and thank me? 'Cause I really saved your butt this time."

Waylon stood up and put on his glasses which were still slightly dirty, but clear enough to see through. He started to shake Homer's hand but decided against it since his had was caked in mud so he stood there awkwardly with his hand halfway extended for a moment before dropping it to his side.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Waylon graciously commended him. "How did you get rid of him?"

"I got my friends Lenny and Carl to distract him." Homer laughed.

"Really? How?"

"They told him about the stash of Playboy magazines and beer they had at the old hangout. Easy as pie... Mmm... pie..." Homer trailed off slowly, his eyes glazing over as if lusting over some imaginary pie.

"But why would you help me? You and I have never really been the best of pals." Waylon asked cautiously, knowing he probably shouldn't question Homer's reasons, but just to be thankful for the random act of kindness.

"Eh... I figured that smart guys like you are the future and you'll probably end up being my boss one day, so I might as well be nice to you for now. Who knows, maybe karma will repay me someday?" Homer shrugged. Waylon laughed at the thought of Homer getting all philosophical and speaking of karma.

"Well, thanks Homer... I really and sincerely am grateful to you and I'll... I'll try to keep that in mind if you ever show up for a job interview." Waylon smiled weakly as he thought about how horrible he must look all wet and covered in mud. "Speaking of jobs, I'm supposed to report for my first day of work today."

"Pht... work. Yeah whatever. Just don't expect this kind of special treatment everyday." Homer added, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him and left.

He still felt like a bundle of nerves as he wiped off as much mud and grass as he could. He would just have to make the best of a bad situation and hopefully Mr. Burns would let him wash up when he arrived.

- o - o - o -

His bike skidded to a stop just beyond Burns' gates. He leaned his bike against the stone wall and apprehensively ran his fingers through his hair, determined that if things worked out well and he still had a job tomorrow, that he would arrive looking his best. He pressed the buzzer and waited for Burns to let him in. After a bit, the black iron gates swung open and he walked his bike towards the house, setting it down in the driveway and making his way nervously up the front steps. He was greeted by Raymond the butler whom looked a bit miffed at his arrival. Whether it was from his unsightly appearance or the fact that he would be taking part of the man's job around the house, he wasn't entirely certain.

"This way Mr. Smithers." said the butler formally. "Mr. Burns is awaiting your arrival." Waylon smiled at the use of his last name as well as the title 'Mr.' He could really get used to being treated like an adult. Waylon came to a stop.

"Um... do you think I could freshen up a bit in the bathroom first?" he asked hopefully. Raymond bent down a grabbed a fistful of Waylon's shirt.

"Now listen here you little ragamuffin," Raymond began, "I'm the butler here and that means I'm the head of the entire servant staff here at this manor. I'm in charge so don't think you can go around usurping my authority!"

"Uh... I wouldn't think of it!" Waylon gasped, a bit stunned, yet slightly amused at the butler's lack of composure and blatent display of jealousy. Raymond let go of him and took a step back, still eying him suspiciously. The butler seemed to have realised his lack of control and looked a bit embarrased by it.

"So... I'm just going to go to the bathroom then..." said Waylon.

"Yes, you could do that, but you would be late for your first day and we wouldn't want that would we?" asked Raymond, the man wrinkled his nose at the mud stains, carefully placing a hand on Waylon's shoulder to usher him ahead.

"No." Waylon replied in defeat. He did have a point. Showing up late would be much worse than showing up looking like a mess. It seemed that sadly, all the hard work he'd put into primping and dressing up would be going to waste.

He was led into the large sitting room that was so formal and lavish that it always seemed to suck away the warmth straight into the cold, black and white marble tiles beneath his feet. He spotted Burns' red, throne-like chair in the distance, facing away from him. The butler left and Waylon swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and his palms sweaty as he approached Mr. Burns. He stepped into the man's line of sight and Burns sat there with his fingers tented, silently, yet scrutinously taking in his appearance.

"I'm here sir. I... I must apologize for my appearance. I had a little incident after school." Waylon hung his head with shame. Burns remained quiet, still silently regarding his presence and studying him as if evaluating his entire worth. Waylon couldn't have felt more exposed under that gaze unless he were completely naked.

"Excellent." Burns spoke huskily, his voice slightly echoing within the cavernous room. "You've passed the first test and arrived to work on time. I'm impressed young lad. You're a right proper boot-lick if thine eyes ever did see one!" Burns chuckled. "Let's see how well you perform a simple task then shall we?"

**A.N. - I really like the intro to "Light my Fire" so I learned to play it on my keyboard. :) I just wanted to do my own depiction of Waylon's stepfather even though there are several theories of Waylon's childhood. I know at least once, Smithers has mentioned having parents and many things also point to Mr. Burns having a part in raising him. That part of the Simpsons universe is quite flexible and up for interpretation.**

**To Be Continued.**


	5. Performance Anxiety

**Chapter Five: Performance Anxiety**

His first 'simple task' seemed simple enough: To sit and stay quiet until Burns called him for assistance. Waylon had changed out of his muddy clothes back into the ones he'd worn for school that day and now he sat nervously on the couch in Burns' den and stayed quiet just as he'd been instructed to do. Burns sat across the room at his desk, busying himself with paperwork. He was quite stylish for an older gentleman, wearing his maroon jacket and a pink shirt with a brown turtle neck sweater beneath it. Though a bit attention grabbing, he owned the look very well.

He watched in awe as the man scribed diligently into a notebook, the nature of his writing, a complete mystery. He used an old feather quill to write with, which Waylon thought was charmingly eccentric. That, along with the low ambient lighting of the crackling fireplace, cast about him an aura of old Gothic, perhaps even Victorian royalty. He really was quite stunning to watch, so much so that Waylon had to stop himself from blatantly staring just as Burns had caught him doing several times already, heat rising to his cheeks and burning red hot with embarrassment every time their eyes accidentally met.

He averted his eyes to the foggy window, watching as several snowflakes drifted lazily down and thankful that everything was nice and toasty in Burns' den. He felt rather fidgety, not really sure what Burns wanted of him, but he knew that he should be doing something more productive rather than just sitting there, yet he was reluctant to speak up about it and risk annoying Burns. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time he'd annoyed the man and most certainly not the last. Finally mustering up enough courage, he cleared his throat. Burns looked up at him, an eyebrow quirked curiously as the quill in his hand stilled, pressing against the parchment.

"Sir, Forgive me for the interruption, but-"

"Mr. Smithers, didn't I order you to wait quietly?" Burns interjected, eyes fixated on him and making his heart race with nervousness and a little bit of fear.

"Yes." Waylon stated breathlessly. Burns glared at him warningly for a long, tentative moment, clearly irritated at the interruption, before turning back to his work.

"Blast! Look what you made me do!" Burns interrupted suddenly, staring down at his paper with shock. Waylon rushed over to Burn's desk to see that he'd accidentally blotted his paper with a huge glob of black ink. Burns growled with annoyance, his eyebrows lowered angrily.

"I told you to sit and stay out of the way," Burns spoke, his eyes closed and his voice deceptively calm, "but you couldn't even do that properly.

"I'm... I really am sorry. I didn't mean to." Waylon lamented, hanging his head ruefully. The silent anger emanating from his boss, just waiting to be unleashed was almost as fearful as his full blown anger.

"Now I'll have to start all over and I'm running low on ink as it is!" Burns' voice rose in volume and irritation. "I'll have to send out to the market for more." He then slammed the feather quill down onto his desk with a loud smack and stood up to leave. Once he'd left the room, Waylon stood there feeling like crap; his first task as a hired assistant having been a failure. He only hoped that this didn't set the precedent for the rest of the evening.

He looked down at the ruined paper on Burns' desk sorrowfully, seeing that it was halfway filled with Burns' loopy, elegant lettering. He felt a little guilty for doing it, but he inspected it further, seeing that it appeared to be a written segment of Burn's life regaling his early childhood before leaving his parents to live with his cruel grandfather. A time when he went by the common moniker 'Happy' by those who knew him. Waylon read on with interest until he reached the part where Burns had blotted the paper. Soon, he heard the familiar click of Burns' shoes nearing the room so he innocently stepped a few feet away from the desk and braced himself as Burns entered the room again, brushing past him and checking inside one of the drawers of his desk wordlessly.

"What am I doing?" Burns stopped and closed the drawer. "You're the assistant! You should be the one searching for another ink well!" Burns sat down in his desk chair, leaning back enough to prop his feet up comfortably on the desk.

"Well sir," Waylon's voice cracked, he wasn't sure if it was from nervousness or simply puberty. "I did bring my book bag from school and I have some extra pens that you could use if you like."

"It's not the same." Burn replied, crinkling his nose with disgust. "I like the feel of a good, old-fashioned quill. It makes for better penmanship. Much superior to those ball and point pens of today's youth."

"Um, that's ball point pen, and of course I'd be happy to look, but I'm pretty sure there aren't any jars of ink left since I organized the room just last week."

"You did? But I hadn't even hired you then." said Burns, looking at him perplexed. Waylon looked down to his shoes sheepishly, hoping that his obsessive compulsive organizing might, in some way, make up for his earlier incompetence.

Yeah, well... I thought it might be a nice gesture... and I wanted to help in any way that I could so..." Waylon's words trailed off in an attempt to show some humility. Mr. Burns swung his feet off his desk and stood up, his eyes fixated on Waylon with an expression that was unreadable.

"So. You straightened MY den without MY consent I see." said Burns, calmly stepping closer, his hands clasped behind his back. Waylon bit his lip, unsure just how to respond. He'd always done things for Burns without being asked and it made him feel special knowing that he'd helped. Waylon swallowed nervously, anticipating a good scolding from Burns, but it never came.

"Ah... I suppose there's no harm done." Burns said, rustling his fingers through Waylon's hair playfully like he had the other day. He really hoped that this sudden penchant Burns had for mussing his hair would become a frequent occurrence. His heart raced at the touch of Burns' fingers, knowing that it was likely the most physical affection he'd receive from the man. "I haven't been this impressed since I first laid eyes on a young Waylon Smithers Sr." Burns smiled. "And I have no secrets from you anyway so..." Burns added after a moment.

"Really?" asked Waylon feeling a wave of relief wash over him that he wasn't in trouble. "You mean there's nothing dark in your past that you're worried I may find out about?" he asked in jest, mirroring Burns' smile.

"Well... I suppose I wouldn't put it like that exactly." Burns laughed, stepping away as if suddenly feeling a sense of invaded personal space, though Waylon wouldn't have minded being even closer. "I mean, everyone has a few skeletons in the closet... or down the secret corpse hatch in my office under the bear statue..." Burns added cryptically as if in an afterthought.

"Your what?" Waylon asked incredulously, uncertain if he'd even heard correctly. Burns laughed again, nervously this time, as he swiped a hand across his receding hairline.

"I do have quite the morbid sense of humor," Burns laughed. "Honestly Waylon, do you have to hang onto my every syllable as if it were the word of God?" Waylon laughed weakly, just glad to see that Burns seemed to have shaken off his irritation almost as quickly as it had come.

"If I may be frank sir," Waylon tread warily, "I just felt like I could be of more use doing something more... productive than just sitting around and waiting." said Waylon. Burns seemed to take this into account, thinking it over for a moment.

"I wasn't aware that you preferred a more active, hands-on role as my assistant. Though..." Burns paused hesitantly, "I'd hardly say that your presence wasn't conducive to my creativity."

Waylon waded through Burns' convoluted speech patterns for a bit of time before he realized, more or less, what the man was saying. That he simply desired Waylon's presence while he worked on his writing project and the notion that Burns would even admit something like that really warmed his heart. He couldn't help but care for the man that was once known by the name 'Happy'. Especially when moments of his former carefree personality shown through.

"I'm... I'm honored that you would feel that way sir." Waylon looked up to meet his eyes, blushing even more fiercely at the uncomfortably flustered look on Burns face at such a simple admission. Waylon watched curiously as Burns' fingers twitched at his sides, his hands slowly, hesitantly reaching forward towards him, then stopping as if indecisively, his fingers hovering mere inches away from Waylon's shoulders.

Waylon searched his eyes wantingly, desperately searching for even the smallest spark of fire, a reflection of his own love, yet uncertain that he could even handle such mutual affection. Waylon unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation, his pulse quickening so that it echoed in his ears as Burns leaned in closer.

Burns then did the unthinkable, grabbing Waylon around the shoulders and gently pulling him to his chest in a warm embrace, effectively trapping his arms down against his sides. Waylon gasped as he listened to Burns inhale deeply, almost as if taking in his scent which was something Waylon himself had been guilty of many times.

"Oh... Mr. Burns." Waylon hummed breathlessly. Burns sighed, burying his face in the crook of Waylon's neck. "Oh god..."

"Waylon." Burns said, pulling back slightly, yet still close enough that he couldn't see his face.

"Yes?" Waylon replied, feeling as if his entire life hung onto Burns' next sentence.

"I don't know... what's come over me." said Burns just a couple of inches away from Waylon's ear, breathing in one last whiff of his scent before pulling away slowly. "that scent it's... so familiar. So... intoxicating."

"Mmm..." Waylon moaned, speechless. His mind was swimming in a haze of confusion and deep affection until the realization set in that Burns was saying something and had already pulled away from him. "Wh—what was that... sir?" Waylon asked, his face so hot and flushed that his glasses had steamed over. He took his glasses off and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. When he put them back on, he saw Burns staring back at him with the most adorably puzzled look.

"Forgive me f-for that... indiscretion. It's just your scent... I find myself uncontrollably attracted to it." said Burns distractedly, somewhat stumbling over his words. "Surely that isn't your natural scent because if it is you could bottle it up and sell it for a fortune!" Burns joked.

"Oh... the scent." Waylon looked down to Burns' shoes shamefully, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach as he realized that what had just happened between them was far from what he wished it were. Of course he was a fool to believe that what he saw in Burns' eyes had anything to do with genuine affection towards him. It was that cologne he'd splashed so generously on himself that had attracted Mr. Burns. It was the love of money.

"Well... I'll suppose if I fetched the squeegee and you fetched the bottles... then we'd be in business." Waylon winced at how odd his own statement came off; however, Burns laughed anyway.

"You're quite the comedian my good man." Burns gave his shoulder a good slap before walking away and sitting back down at his desk, picking up a folder and busying himself with his paperwork.

Waylon sighed, still a bit on edge over what had just happened. He knew it was too good to be true, but still, for a moment, he knew what it felt like to be lavished with Burns' attention and it had felt like nothing else he could describe. He knew, from that moment on, that he was forever hooked, Forever ensnared by the charms of one C. Montgomery Burns and nothing would change that no matter how hopeless and unrequited that love would remain.

**- o - o - o -**

"Right there... sir?"

"No a little higher."

"There?"

"No no... lower lower. Yes, that's it. Right there! Excellent." said Burns as Waylon placed the old leather bound book on the shelf that Burns wanted it on in his extensive personal library.

Waylon grinned despite himself, enjoying every bit of innuendo that he could wheedle out of the man. Ah, the joys of being a sex obsessed teenaged boy. In that respect, he was typical of the average male. Thankfully, the discomfort and awkwardness from earlier seemed to have been forgotten as Waylon resumed his work for Burns.

Waylon carefully climbed down the ladder as Burns held it steady and when he got to the bottom rung, Burns placed one arm around his waist and the other on his rear to steady his decent. Waylon of course, needlessly drawing out the moment, hesitated as long as possible as he fiddled around with his shirt sleeve that had 'somehow' gotten snagged onto the ladder. Waylon finally held onto Burns' shoulder, making sure not to put too much weight onto him, and hopped down onto the solid wooden floors.

"You know sir, this job isn't very different from the things I've always done for you for free." Waylon smiled, his face still slightly pink from the climbing as well as the firm hand he'd just felt on his rear.

"Keep talking like that and I may stop paying you at all." Burns chuckled. Lesson number three: Never mention loving your job too much since the boss may see that as an invitation for never giving you a raise.

"Oh so we're keeping count now? Just out of curiosity, what were lessons one and two?" Waylon asked.

"Number one: Be on time. And number two: Follow all orders precisely and without question." Burns playfully tapped Waylon's nose as if punctuating the sentence, much like he would have done a child.

"Sir, You don't have to treat me like a little kid anymore." Waylon rolled his eyes, yet inwardly still melting at the affectionate manner with which Burns treated him.

"Right. I keep forgetting. Why, you're nearly an adult now aren't you? You're looking more like your father everyday." said Burns.

"Thanks... Yeah, I've seen pictures of him." Waylon answered somberly. Burns scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable talking about the man that Waylon had been told had died while on a trip to the Amazon by jungle warriors. Though it was a wild tale and somewhat unbelievable, he'd never questioned it, worrying that it might hit a sore spot for Burns and knowing that he'd rarely ever had a true friend like Waylon Sr.

"Well... enough dwelling on the past." Burns sighed. "I have the rest of the evening off so I think I'll just go take a nice soak in the tub."

"Okay, I'll just go fetch the butler if you want." Waylon started towards the exit, but Burns' voice stopped him in the doorway.

"I sent Raymond home early since you're here. You can start the bath for me." said Burns.

"M-me sir?" Waylon asked, never having been given the task of starting Burns' bath.

"Well that's what I'm paying you for. Are you questioning your orders Mr. Smithers?" Burns asked, narrowing his eyes warningly.

"N-no! NO! Of course not!" Waylon exclaimed. "I'll get right on it!"

Waylon rushed out of the room, nothing but inescapable images of Burns soaking in the tub, and naked at that, ran through his thoughts and he blushed furiously for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

Waylon entered Burns' bedroom, the familiar lavish style that pervaded the manor certainly matched the man's personality and posh lifestyle. The walls were muted lavender with various wooden framed pictures of Burns in his younger years hanging on the walls. To the right was a large canopy bed with matching lavender curtains and beyond that was a large, stained glass bay window. He'd rarely been in the room since he'd was a little kid spending his summers there, often waking Burns in the night because he needed water or had had a nightmare.

Waylon's eyes centered back on the bed and he couldn't resist the urge to touch it. He ran the tips of his fingers over the thick comforter and rich satin sheets. He'd bet it even smelled like the man. Unable to resist the urge, he sat down on the bed and sighed at how soft and comfortable it felt. He leaned over to look out of the door to see if anyone was coming before he gave in to yet another urge by lying down on his stomach and burying his face into the soft pillow.

"Waylon?" a soft voice called from the door. Waylon picked his head up and looked over to see Burns standing there in the doorway. His eyes grew wide. "I thought you were going to start my bath." said Burns, staring blankly at him, unsure just what to make of the scene before him. Waylon shamefully stood up from the bed and struggled to speak.

"I-I'll... I'll get right on that... sir." Waylon stepped aside Burns and hurried into the adjoining bathroom without another word. Hopefully Burns wouldn't mention it either.

The bathroom was huge with peach colored walls, checkerboard marble floors and a fancy claw foot tub centered in the middle of the room. Waylon turned on the hot water and placed a stopper in the tub. While it was filling, he went over to the linen cabinet and fetched a wash cloth and towel, placing them on the table near the sink for when Burns needed them.

After about a minute or two, the door creaked open and Burns came in. Waylon stepped aside as the man dangled his fingers in the tub to test the water. Waylon stood there nervously, hoping that he'd prepared everything to Burns' liking.

"Excellent." Burns withdrew his hand from the water and stood up. "A little too cool for my taste, but I'll let you off on it this time since you've never done this before."

"Thank you. Um... is there anything in particular that I should keep in mind? Like certain preferences that you may have?" asked Waylon.

"Eager to learn I see. That's a good quality." said Burns as he took off his maroon jacket and handed it to Waylon. "Normally Raymond, or whoever is on duty makes sure the water is precisely 107 degrees and adds a bit of scented bubble bath."

"Okay. Uh... should I fetch a thermometer?" Waylon asked worriedly.

"No, everything seems fine enough." Burns laughed. Waylon's eyes grew wide as Burns began unbuttoning his pink shirt. He gulped. He'd never drawn Burns' bath before and he wondered just what such a task entailed. He caught Burns' shirt as it was tossed his way as well as the brown sweater which came off soon after. He got a quick glimpse of Burns bare from the waist up before he looked away. He wanted to look longer, he really did, but he wasn't sure if he could take what he saw if he did. His eyes cast down to the floor, he saw Burns kicking off his shoes followed subsequently by the click of his belt, seeing it drop to the floor near the shoes. Next he heard the sound of a zipper and of clothes rustling.

Waylon ventured a quick peek, lifting his eyes cautiously just in time to see Burns stepping out of his trousers and kicking them aside. Burns stood with his back to him so it wasn't like he knew that his young assistant stood back there, practically ogling him now that he dared to look. Waylon's face reddened at the site of Burns in his underwear. The man was much thinner than he'd realized, yet he was still incredibly and unexplainably attractive to Waylon. He could probably count the bones down his spine. In fact, he unconsciously began doing just that as a distraction from his own embarrassment.

_One, two, three..._ Burns fingers looped into the waistband of his underwear. _...four, five..._ He inched them down and stepped out, adding them to the rest of the discarded clothing on the floor. _Eight... eleven... oh god..._Waylon stopped counting, being greeted with the view of Burns' backside for a moment before the man got into the tub and sank down slowly into the steaming water. Waylon let out the breath he'd unknowingly been holding, slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

"Waylon, take these clothes away and put them in the laundry basket over there, the maid should get to them shortly." Burns waived a hand towards him dismissively before sinking further into the water and sighing with relaxation, completely oblivious to the bundle of desire and embarrassment that he'd reduced his young assistant to.

"Mmm hmm..." Waylon uttered in response as he gathered all the clothes and took them to the basket while setting Burns' shoes and belt down near the sink. He stood there for a moment, unsure just what he was supposed to do now. Surely Burns could wash himself couldn't he?

"Waylon? I could use a bit of help." called Burns. Waylon let out a little, nervous sound at Burns' request. He approached the tub apprehensively and cleared his throat to speak.

"What..." he swallowed, "do you... need help with?"

"My back. It's a little out of my reach. If you would..." Burns handed him the wash cloth and Waylon took a deep breath. It was no big deal, certainly not as much as he was making it out to be. Burns sat up in the tub and leaned forwards.

"Well? Get on with it so I can finish my bath." said Burns. Waylon crouched down next to the tub and dipped the rag into the hot water and smoothed it over Burns' back, relishing the few brief moments his fingers were allowed contact with that warm skin, slightly flushed by the heat of the water.

"Don't be afraid to scrub a little harder Waylon, I won't break you know." Burns added. Waylon laughed weakly and rubbed the cloth and little harder, starting at the top of his spine and tracing over those prominent bones that he'd counted just moments earlier and only stopping when his hand reached down about and inch beneath the water. He then dipped the rag back into the hot water and moved to one of his shoulders, slowly wiping it across his skin while indulgently letting his fingers skim across Burns' shoulder, nearing his chest before he even realized where his hands were traveling.

His touch must have been more relaxing than he'd realized as Burns slowly leaned back, his eyes closed and sighing with relaxation. Waylon hovered the cloth over his chest hesitantly for a moment before gathering the courage to continue, returning the cloth to the front of Burns' shoulder and down to his chest to which Burns didn't even flinch. He held back a gasp of excitement when his fingers came into contact with the roughness of Burns' chest hair and he dared to move a little further to his abdomen when Burns finally stopped him.

"That's quite enough, thank you Waylon." said Burns. Waylon handed the cloth back to him and stood back up, his face glowing red and shocked at himself for letting his hands wander.

"Uh... w-what should I do next?" asked Waylon.

"I suppose that's all I need you for... for now." Burns answered. "Normally I just soak and relax, sometimes read, sometimes have one of the staff roll in the TV or bring me a beverage."

"Would you like me to bring you something?" asked Waylon, becoming a little more comfortable with the idea of being in the room while Burns was in the tub.

"Sure, a soda would be lovely." said Burns, closing his eyes and sliding slightly further down into the water.

"Okay." Waylon replied flatly, still a little undone by the whole experience. He quickly left to retrieve the soda that Burns had requested, his mind replaying the feel of touching the object of his affection, however innocent those circumstances had been. He returned to see that Burns had slid further down into the tub, yet still high enough to breath.

"Sir? Your soda?" Waylon said, yet Burns didn't respond. "Mr. Burns?" called Waylon a little more urgently, a hint of panic in his voice. He placed a hand on Burns' shoulder causing the man to stir and open his eyes to look up at him. Burns scooted up a little.

"Oh Waylon... I didn't hear you. My ears were under water and I must have drifted off. That happens sometimes." Burns took the glass bottle of soda, of which Waylon had already popped the lid off of, and took a quick sip before setting it down on the floor next to the tub. "I often have someone to sit with me to make sure I don't fall asleep and drown." Burns laughed darkly, though Waylon didn't think it was all too funny.

"Falling asleep in the tub... that sounds a bit dangerous don't you think?" asked Waylon, concerned. His gaze unknowingly drifted to the water, the blurry image of Burns' naked form momentarily distracting him before he looked away, blushing slightly.

"Well, there's no need to worry about that when I have you to watch over me." said Burns, causing Waylon to blush even harder. He looked back to see that Burns was eying him curiously. "Waylon, you look a little flushed. Are you alright?" asked Burns, probably more out of curiosity than real concern.

"Oh, no... I'm fine. I think it must be the steam of the water... the room is... slightly... " Waylon wiped his forehead which itched from sweat, though he had the feeling it wasn't only from the heat of the room. "Phew... is it hot in here?" Waylon tugged at his shirt collar. Burns quirked and eyebrow.

"Why don't you go sit down for a while? I'll be done soon and your shift will be over soon as well." said Burns.

"I'm fine, really," Waylon assured him, "but I can't just leave you here alone. What if you fall asleep again?"

"Well I'm sure the lack of oxygen and the water in my lungs will wake me," Burns laughed, "but if you're that concerned you can sit over there on the porcelain throne and read a magazine or something if you wish." Waylon flashed him a brief smile before crossing the room, hesitating for a moment before closing the lid on the toilet and sitting down. It wasn't the most dignified position, but it had been Burn's suggestion so he went with it. He spotted a magazine near the sink and picked it up to read, his eyes flitting occasionally over to Burns, relieved to see the back of his head and his elbows visible from the edge of the tub. After a while, Burns' voice startled him from a surprisingly interesting business article.

"I think I've soaked enough to turn into a prune by now." Burns chuckled. Waylon heard the water gurgling from the drain being pulled and looked up, unprepared for the site that his eyes were greeted to. There stood Burns, in all his glorious nakedness and this time, giving him not just the rear view, but the full Monty. Waylon took a deep steadying breath before laying the magazine on the sink and bringing the towel over to him. He handed the towel over to Burns, who quickly scrubbed the towel over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. Burns sure wasn't shy about his body that was for sure, not that he had a reason to be shy given how impressively 'gifted' he was. Waylon wiped the sweat from his brow again, both thankful and a little disappointed that Burns had finally covered himself.

- o - o - o -

Waylon's shift was only to be until six o'clock that evening, but it was already nearing eight and he'd had quite the full day being Burns' assistant. He'd helped to organize the library, watched as Burns tried on several suits and costumes just for the fun of it, one even being a pirate suit. He'd helped him with his bath, getting enough visual imagery of the man to fuel a lifetime's worth of fantasies. He'd also taken a tour of the mansion with Mr. Burns even though he'd already seen most of the rooms anyway, though he suspected that Burns just liked talking about his possessions and various hobbies and Waylon just happened to be an available audience.

He liked to think that Burns maybe viewed him as a friend. That's what they were weren't they? Friends? He knew that the man cared about him to some extent even if he didn't act like it sometimes. Why else would Burns so readily welcome him into his home, letting him stay for weeks at a time when he was a kid while all the rest of his friends went off to summer camp? Maybe he felt an obligation to Waylon Smithers Sr.

Waylon snapped to attention as Burns entered the den wearing his royal blue robe over light blue, pinstriped pajamas, smiling that he still wore those same fuzzy pink slippers that he'd worn the last time Waylon had seen him in his nightwear. For a supposed straight male, Burns did have quite the fondness for pink, which is why Waylon so often wore the color. In his hand, was a mug of something steaming, likely a cup of tea or coffee.

"Help yourself to a cup of coffee if you want." Burns offered.

"This late?" asked Waylon. "You aren't going to be able to sleep tonight with all of that caffeine." Waylon laughed.

"Ah, I'm fine. I'll be up for another couple of hours yet." Burns replied warmly, sitting down on the sofa across from Waylon and setting his cup on the coffee table between them. Sitting there like that together, Burns offering him coffee and smiling back at him as they spoke, it almost seemed like they really were friends.

Waylon looked up at the clock on the wall, seeing it was now about eight o'clock, but he didn't want to leave just yet and he'd finished all of his homework during school hours. Maybe Burns wouldn't notice; however, Burns caught his line of sight, seeing him looking up at the clock.

"Hmm... it is getting rather late." Burns sighed. "I was hoping to review some of my writing with you before you left, to get another person's take on it, but I'm sure you're probably ready to go home and be rid of me aren't you?"

"Oh no sir! Quite the opposite actually!" Waylon replied enthusiastically. "I'd love to stay longer if it's okay with you and you won't even have to pay me overtime!"

"Excellent, I really do need an honest opinion on my work, yet none of my staff seem willing to give me anything more than empty platitudes." Burns scoffed, picking up his cup from the table and taking a sip.

"Perhaps they're afraid. You are their boss after all." Waylon offered in way of explanation.

"Would you be afraid?" asked Burns, looking up at him from over his coffee cup before taking another sip.

"Well..." Waylon looked down to his lap, unsure how to answer that. "I wouldn't want to discourage you, but I'm sure anything you write would be interesting." he finally replied. If Burns' writing had been anything like what he'd read on his desk about his childhood, he'd definitely want to read it. He didn't really care how good the quality of the writing was, it was just that the man had such a fascinating life that it deserved to be shared with the world.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>A.N. - I don't think I'll be adding segments of Burns' writing since we all pretty much know Burn's life history from all those flashback episodes. Though, I may add excerpts if the story calls for it, but they'll probably be brief. I will try to post chapters more often, but I'd like to thank those readers that still want to read it anyway and always put up with my laziness. This chapter is slightly (a tiny bit) longer than average so I hope that helps.<strong>**


	6. Still Happy

**Chapter Six: Still Happy**

"It was the Ardennes Counteroffensive, better known as the Battle of the Bulge." stated Mr. Burns as he read from the paper in his hand, one foot placed firmly on the coffee table for dramatic affect. He spoke quite presidentially and with such vigor as one delivering a State of the Union address. Waylon sat on the couch, listening diligently as Burns continued.

"The weather was to the detriment of our allied forces as the low fog and cloud cover made visibility difficult for our superior air force to lay siege on the advancing enemy tankers. The enemies had practically decimated our front lines with-"

"Wait, wait..." Waylon interrupted, setting his coffee cup down on the table. "I thought you were going to read about your childhood and all those happy times before you moved away to live with your cold and heartless grandfather." said Waylon before he could stop himself. He bit his lip nervously.

"Oh? And what makes you think that?" Burns asked. "Did you... by any chance read the papers left on my desk while I was out of the room?"

"Uh... would I be in trouble if I did?" asked Waylon warily, leaning back on the couch. Burns scratched his sideburns in thought.

"No. Though, I was thinking of scrapping that part since no one would be interested in my childish escapades. No, not a particularly interesting segment of my life."

"If I may sir... I don't think it would be boring at all. If anything, it would let people know that you actually did have a heart... once. That you really are human." said Waylon. He knew Mr. Burns did have a heart under that cold exterior and maybe writing about happier times in his life would make him realize it too.

"Why on earth would I want that?" Burns asked, a look of utter repulsion on his face. "I've worked hard all my life to cultivate this veneer of cold detachment and indifference towards the common man. It's a cut-throat world out there Waylon! You have to scratch and claw your way to the top and emotional weakness and human nature can impede that pursuit!" Burns spoke loudly, leaning over the desk towards Waylon, his palms pressed against the table.

"But don't you lose a little bit of yourself in the process? Sure you have lots of money and material possessions, but are you happy?" asked Waylon. He caught a glimpse of something, some intensity in the man's eyes for a brief second before Burns looked away and stood up. Burns shuffled his fuzzy-slippered feet as he took a couple of steps away, his back to Waylon.

"Whomever said that money doesn't buy happiness was likely a penniless fool harboring a deep resentment for those at the top." said Burns quietly. Waylon stared at Burns' back, a little speechless for the moment, though he felt something should be said.

"All I want is to make you happy... sir. If I can." Waylon muttered, his words coming unfiltered and straight from the heart. "...if you'll let me."

"Funny... that's what my last girlfriend said too before she left me." Burns laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Waylon felt a little taken aback and hurt by the fact that Burns seemed to have glossed over what he'd just admitted so easily, switching to the subject of past girlfriends.

"Which one, Suzanne?" asked Waylon bitterly, leaning forward to grab his coffee cup, taking a quick sip and feeling it warm him from the inside.

"No, Carol. I'm still seeing Suzanne... or Roxanne... or was it Annabel?" Burns paused, momentarily stumped over the name. "Oh it was Ann something, but who cares. I don't think she'll stick around too much longer anyway."

"Oh? And why is that?" asked Waylon. He wanted Mr. Burns to be happy, he really did, but he still couldn't help the feeling of relief whenever Burns broke up with one of his girlfriends.

"Well, she keeps canceling our plans, sometimes without even giving me the common courtesy to call and let me know that she isn't coming." Burns sat in the wing-backed chair across from Waylon, a sudden sullenness about him. What could he even say after hearing that? He knew that being merely sixteen, he was too young for Mr. Burns, but some part of him still held on to the hope that in a couple of years, maybe their age difference wouldn't matter so much. The real thing that stood in the way of his decidedly far-fetched romantic ideals wouldn't be age, but a matter of gender and the fact that Burns seemed to be fixedly heterosexual with no signs of dallying onto the other side of the court. After a long silence, Burns sighed and stretched back comfortably into his chair.

"Well enough about my love life. If you really want to hear about my childhood then who am I to deny you of that pleasure?" Burns smiled as he propped his feet up and leaned back comfortably, a much more relaxed posture than the rigid stance he taken when regaling of old war times, likely a reflection of his mood governing such strikingly different subject matter.

"Oh you can pleasure me any day sir." Waylon's cup clattered against his saucer and his face grew hot with embarrassment as he realized what he'd just said aloud. Burns gave him an odd look for a second, but quickly dismissed it.

"Well it all started when I was in the womb. Little did the world know that a great leader and his wave of influence would soon befall them; benevolent as he was intelligent, a supreme mastery of the atom ingrained into his very blood. He would soon forge a path that would come to be known as his legacy!"

"And then he was born." Waylon prompted, laughing at Burn's grandiose account of his legacy.

"Yes. Well I was just getting to that my dear boy. Never underestimate a powerful introduction." Burns cleared his throat before he continued. "My parents Charles and Daphne weren't very wealthy, but they made sure to keep us well fed and well mannered. I was the youngest of eleven children and it was... admittedly a much happier point in my life. In fact, I had everything I could have possibly wanted, or so I thought." He paused to drink his coffee and when Waylon didn't say anything, he continued.

"I'd seen my parents work themselves to the bone, struggling for every last cent and I wasn't about to let an opportunity like that my grandfather was offering go to waste. Especially when my other siblings found out about their grandfather's vast fortune and thus began a cycle of feuding and sibling rivalry. He took me to his mansion where I lived a life of privilege and decadence. He was a straight shooter, my grandfather. Not one to be crossed. He'd flog you in a minute if you didn't mind him."

"He beat you?" asked Waylon, though he couldn't say that he was surprised by that fact.

"Very rarely, but that was all it took for me to get the hint. After that, he spoiled me terribly and gave me anything I wanted as long as I did as I was told and behaved like a proper young gentleman."

"Did you and your dad ever do anything fun like fishing, hiking, or telling stories around a campfire?" Waylon asked, eager to veer the subject back to an earlier time. A time of fatherly bonding that he'd never had the chance to experience himself other than the time he'd spent with Mr. Burns.

"Oh we did all those things, but fishing was a matter of survival not just sport in those days." Burns laughed. "There was this one time my father told me and my brother Georgie that we were too young to go out onto the boat by ourselves so we fashioned our own makeshift raft and set sail down the river... though neither of us had the aforethought to bring the paddles." Burns laughed again, this time coming to sit down next to Waylon.

Burns went on to tell several such stories from his youth and with each one, he seemed more enlivened, almost as if he were still that same bright-eyed, carefree kid that he spoke of in his adventures. When Burns wasn't being the cold, hard businessman, deep down he was still a young boy at heart. He was still 'Happy'.

After a while, Waylon felt himself drifting off, soothed by the sound of Burns' voice and to the warmth he felt from the man sitting so closely next to him. He unknowingly moved towards that warmth as Burns droned on. He really did want to listen to more but he simply couldn't keep his eyes open a moment longer before the world faded away and he found himself whisked off into the land of nod.

"Come on Waylon! Hurry up!" yelled Happy as he ran ahead and into the forest.

"Okay, but aren't we forgetting something?" Waylon yelled back. The boy, roughly the same age as himself, turned around just at the edge of the forest and yelled out to him.

"Just come on!" Happy yelled impatiently, laughing at Waylon's overly cautious attitude. Clearly his friend was quite adventurous in contrast to himself. Waylon shook his head and ran to catch up. They ran through the forest with Happy leading the way and he only hoped that the boy knew where they were going. Soon they made it to a clearing and Happy stopped dead in his tracks, Waylon bumping into him from behind.

"Here it is! Right where I left it!" said Happy as he walked over to inspect the raft that he'd been bragging about earlier.

"So that's the raft? Do you think it will float?" asked Waylon, eying the crudely made log and rope raft sceptically. Happy pushed the raft out onto the water and hopped onto it without hesitation.

"Sure it'll float. Now stop being a pansy and get on." Happy teased. Waylon felt inspired by Happy's impulsiveness and didn't want to make a bad impression on his new friend, one that he was beginning to like a lot, perhaps even enough to call it a crush. Waylon got onto the raft which felt surprisingly sturdy despite it's looks and they set off down the river, course set for adventure.

Once they'd gotten a fair distance down the river and were ready to head back home, Waylon suddenly realized what it was that they'd forgotten.

"Oh no, the paddles!" Waylon cried. "We left them at the house!"

"Wow. So I guess that means we're going to be stuck out here alone for a while huh?" asked Happy, a look of disappointment on his face. "Dammit, now what are we going to do until someone comes along and saves our sorry hides?" Happy splashed the water in frustration. Waylon blushed as all the thoughts of what they could do out there alone crossed his mind. He wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss Happy and he unconsciously licked his lips at the thought. Happy looked up at him with a puzzled look that was simply adorable.

"What are you staring at Waylon?" asked Happy.

"I was just wondering if you've ever... kissed a boy before?" Waylon scratched the back of his head nervously as he awaited a response.

"Um... no? Why?" asked Happy, his expression one of relaxed curiosity,

"Well, no reason... just curious." Waylon blushed even harder, averting his eyes downward to avoid Happy's penetrating stare. He felt the raft rock slightly as the boy crawled closer to him on his knees.

"But I'd be willing to try." said Happy, leaning in and capturing his lips with a kiss. Waylon nearly melted on the spot as he felt the warm mouth against his, but all too soon, he felt himself being pulled away from that warmth and with a sudden jolt, he felt him self staring at a white ceiling feeling utterly disillusioned and incredibly turned on. The dream had felt so real and he sorely wished that he could have stayed in it for a moment longer.

He sighed sorrowfully and took a moment to soak in his surroundings. He was in the same guest room he'd stayed in when he was a young child in Burns' care, the huge bed with the rich mahogany headboard and posts, a matress just as luxurious and comfortable as he'd remembered and it was quite nostalgic, though it seemed a lot smaller now that he'd grown larger. He sat up and looked around the room, seeing sunlight gleaming through the silky white curtains, melting away the frost of the night before. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the couch and listening to Burns while he began to doze off against him, his head resting against the man's lap during his last moments of wakefulness. Had he really done that?

He got up from the bed and straightened his clothes which were wrinkled from enduring a night of sleep before going to the bathroom. Once he'd combed his hair and freshened up a bit he walked past Burns' room, stopping just outside the door which was left cracked open and he just could hear the sounds of the man quietly snoring.

He didn't know what possessed him, but he slowly cracked open the door and silently slipped into the room. He stopped next to the bed to see that Burns was curled up onto his side, shivering slightly and looking so innocently youthful. In that moment he was every bit the same as the boy that he had dreampt of earlier. Waylon pulled the covers up higher to cover Burns' shoulders and spotted that the source of the cold draft was the window that was slightly opened. Before he could move to close the window Burns stirred, awakening from his slumber.

"Waylon?" Burns sat up slowly, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light. Waylon panicked for a moment, freezing like a deer caught in headlights. "Waylon. What are you doing in here?" asked Burns irritably, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

"Uh, I just... I wanted to check on you and... I saw that your window was open and it was a little chilly in the room." Waylon managed to keep his voice rather calm as he crossed the room to close the window.

"Oh. Are you going to be late for school?" Burns sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, yawning tiredly. At least the man didn't seem too angry that Waylon had sneaked into his room while he was sleeping.

"No. It's Saturday and I guess I really should call home to let them know I'm alright." Waylon stood by the bed awkwardly, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh, don't bother. I called them last night and your... stepfather didn't sound too happy to be awoken so late. He also wasn't very happy with you either for staying over without calling."

"I don't know why he even bothers to care what I do. He hates me anyway." Waylon scoffed. Mr. Burns stood up and began unbuttoning his night shirt as he walked over to the dresser and took out some clothes before heading off to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Waylon sighed; as much as he liked seeing Mr. Burns undress, he wasn't sure if he was ready for an encore performance so soon.

"He wanted you on the phone, but I told him that you were asleep." came Burn's voice from the other room. "He then insisted on talking to you anyway to which I strongly discouraged until he relented."

"You yelled at him?" asked Waylon, his mouth agape with disbelief.

"Let's just say that my will far outweighs his." said Burns. Waylon could imagine the smirk the man must be wearing on the other side of the door. "I didn't even have to raise my voice for him to get the hint."

"Well, I guess I should go home then." said Waylon, scuffing his socks along Burns' carpet nervously, only just then noticing that someone had courteously taken off his shoes before he'd went to sleep which brought up another question: Who had picked him up and put him in the bed last night? Burns soon emerged from the bathroom dressed in his wide-collared tan coat, red shirt and brown checked trousers, his hair combed over neatly to cover his bald spot.

"I'll have the chauffeur ready a car for you in the front courtyard." said Burns.

"No, that's okay. I've got my bike." Waylon stepped aside for Burns as he passed and sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.

"It's no trouble at all. In fact, I'll drive you home myself." Burns insisted, struggling with his shoe laces. Waylon instinctively moved forward to help, taking Burns laces on his right shoe and quickly tying them.

"What, really? Wow..." Waylon exclaimed, "Thank you sir!" Burns was actually offering to drive someone else around for once? The same man that has a chauffeur on call at all times and within a moment's notice? Surely he must have some ulterior motive.

"Well don't make such a big hoopla out of it! I just feel like visiting with your parents for a bit that's all. I thought we'd have a nice chat." said Burns, shaking his foot out of Waylon's grasp. "No... that's a little too tight. I can't even feel my toes!" Burns complained. Waylon untied the shoe and retied it.

"There, hows that?" he said as he looked up, his eyes meeting Mr. Burns'.

"Fine. Now go get your things and don't take all day." Burns grumbled.

"Right sir!" said Waylon, he then rushed off to get his shoes and his schoolbag, excited at the prospect of having Mr. Burns actually in his house.

"Sir. Don't you think you should slow down... just a little? The speed limit is only 45 here and I'm pretty sure you're pushing 65 almost 70!" He was beginning to rethink his decision of letting Mr. Burns drive him home as they sped down the streets of Springfield, almost striking several cars already.

"Bah, speed limit..." Burns scoffed, smacking Waylon on the shoulder playfully. "Don't be so yellow-bellied Waylon! Learn to live a little!"

"I'm trying, but it won't do any good if you go and get us killed!" yelled Waylon, firmly gripping onto his seat as the car barely missed jumping the curb as they turned the corner. Waylon nearly wanted to get out and kiss the concrete of his driveway when the car stopped in front of his house, though he wasn't too eager about the idea of facing his stepfather as the man was a stickler for punctuality and schedules.

"I'm not looking forward to this." said Waylon as he walked up to the front door with Mr. Burns.

"It'll be fine." Burns assured him, making him feel fractionally better. Waylon opened the door an peaked in, his heart racing as the first thing he saw was his stepfather's face. The man had pulled a chair up to the door in anticipation of his arrival. Either Mr. Burns must have called alerting him to their arrival, or else the man had been sitting there for hours waiting, which he wouldn't put past him.

"Waylon, so nice to see you've decided to rejoin this family." Glen taunted, his fingers working on undoing his belt buckle. Panic began to set in for Waylon. Glen would threaten him with the belt occasionally, but never had he gone as far as to actually beat him with it! Glen suddenly dropped the sneering smirk, his face growing pale once he saw Mr. Burns emerge from the doorway.

"Mr. Ramsey." Burns greeted, extending a hand to Glen to which Glen took after a moment, shaking hands with him. Glen swallowed nervously and Waylon began to wonder if maybe his stepfather was a little intimidated or frightened by Mr. Burns.

"As you know, young Waylon here has decided to follow in his father's footsteps and work as my assistant. As for last night, Waylon was supposed to leave by six, but he ended up staying a little later to help me review parts of my autobiography." Burns explained.

"So? He still should have had the foresight to call. His mother was worried sick and she hasn't been doing well ever since." Glen grumbled angrily, keeping his voice low as to not wake his wife in the next room.

"I do apologize, but-" Burns began, but Glen interrupted.

"I would have told her that you had called around midnight, but she was already... out for the night." Glen continued irritably. Waylon looked over to see his mother lying on the couch with the lights dimmed and her hand over her forehead. Waylon knew that saying she was, 'out for the night' was like code for saying she'd drank too much. Guilt began to set in, knowing that it was his fault that she'd turned to drinking this time and there was no one to blame but himself.

"Mr. Ramsey. I assure you that Waylon will call from now on if he has to stay late." said Burns.

"You'd better be right about that. That's all I have to say." Glen sneered.

"So am I going to be punished then?" asked Waylon, hoping that his stepfather would be reluctant to punish him in front of Mr. Burns.

"You should be. You really should be..." Glen crossed his arms, still in the same seat he'd been in when they'd arrived. "but if Burns says you'll call next time, then I'll reluctantly take his word for it."

"Thank you... Glen." said Waylon, though it took all the effort he had to mutter those words.

"But next time I won't be so forgiving." Glen warned, glaring at him threateningly.

"Well, now that that's all sorted out I shall make my exit post haste. Please do give my regards to Mrs. Smithers." Burns smiled curtly. He then turned to Waylon. "So see you next Monday then?"

"It's a date...er... I mean... see you then... for work." Waylon stammered clumsily. Burns patted him on the back before turning to leave, shutting the front door behind him.

"Wait! Did he just call my wife Mrs. Smithers?" Glen stood up, moving towards the door that Burns' had just excited, but sitting back down when he realized that Burns had already left, his tires squealing loudly as he pulled out of the driveway.

"I hadn't noticed." Waylon smirked, glad that Burns had slipped that snide remark in so effectively. Waylon left the living room and headed up the stairs to his room, though if he could choose, he'd rather being going to his room at Burns' place and unlike most other teens his age, he couldn't wait for Monday to arrive.

**A. N. - So I thought I'd better end this chapter here, even though it was a little shorter than average. There will be more confrontations between Jimmy and Waylon coming soon as well as complications in Waylon's home life so... I don't think things aren't going to be going too smoothly for Waylon for a while. **

**Also, the raft story was actually based on one my uncle told me of when he went up the river without a paddle and the coast guards had to rescue him and his brother. xD**


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